


A Long Way from Home

by BountyKress



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Avvar, Angst, Avvar Cullen, Cultural Differences, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fighting, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Inquisitor's sister is Protagonist, Occasional Obscene Language, POV Mostly Female Rogue Trevelyan, Plot, Romance, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suspense, Violence, implied threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:36:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BountyKress/pseuds/BountyKress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Cara Trevelyan, youngest daughter of Lady Bann Trevelyan and secretly apprenticed Rogue, happily leaves her life of nobility behind when the grand game pushes her too far. But when the bard ends up owing her life to the irritatingly stubborn Thane of Red Lion Hold, she finds in him an unlikely yet cherished friend. She never intended for her fondness of Cullen Lion Fang to grow, but as time passes she realizes she is slowly falling for his gentle Avvar heart and strange way of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world of nobility is a stuffy and dangerous one. An introduction into the Life of Cara Avril Trevelyan, a young noble woman, who is far too headstrong for the likes of her fussy mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another AU Avvar fanfiction has made its way onto Ao3:) This story has my own original plot line mixed with the traditional one of Dragon Age Inquisition. For those who prefer fast action lovey scenes BE WARNED; this is a story with plot. It will be slow burn AND will be set at a slow build pace, so have patience:) I hope you enjoy!
> 
> UPDATE: This Chapter has been revised and slightly altered for improvement.

“Darling put that thing away where it belongs: in the fire.”

Cara ignored the snooty demeanor of her prejudiced mother and continued to happily read her letter. She hadn’t heard from her elder sister since the circle in Ostwick fell, shortly after the destruction of the Conclave. She had wanted to cry tears of joy at the sight of a letter addressed to her when she read the return was from _‘Evelyn Trevelyan’_ on the wax-sealed envelope. But of course, her mother’s furious shrieking had ruined the moment.

Her sister was a mage, and as is the custom for anyone with manifested magical gifts, the chantry took her away from them when she was only fifteen years of age. Cara had only been a small child at that time but she missed her beloved sister every day. Her older brother, Tryston, and herself had kept in touch with her over the years, much to the chagrin of their high-maintenance mother who no longer acknowledged Evelyn as her daughter. Apparently holding the proper status as Ostwick’s fifth-most important family meant more to her parents than continuing to have family ties to Evelyn all because she was a magic user.

‘A disgrace,’ their mother had once called Evelyn. ‘A stain on the family’s bloodlines.’ As if old parchments with dead ancestors’ pedigrees were more important than living, breathing flesh-and-blood! Who, might she mention, had done nothing wrong other than been gifted with magic!

The injustice of it all set her blood boiling. Her brother wasn’t quite so passionate about sharing her beliefs in mages’ rights but he didn’t appreciate the injustice dealt to their sister anymore than she did. She could count on him being more sensible than their mother or father. So when her brother and father strode into the drawing room of their large estate conversing with one another, she went straight to him.

“Tryston!” she greeted him cheerfully in the doorway, throwing her arms around his neck.

Taken aback, he stumbled a bit before returning her unexpected hug. He grinned at her.

“What’s all this about? Good news of some sort?” He looked curiously to the papers Cara held.

“They are _nothing_ , from _no one_ ,” her mother cut in sternly before she could even say a word in reply. “And you had best dispose of them before I have another fit!”

‘ _Have your fit, mother,’_ she thought to herself, not in the least liking the fact that she was the product of such an awful woman. Lady Bann Trevelyan might have raised them, but- well, actually Cara took that thought back. Their Nan had raised them, and had been more of a mother to them than their actual mother had. Even still, Cara had to call her something she never even deserved the title of in the first place. It tasted bitter on her tongue each time she said it.

“It’s Evelyn,” she answered him breathlessly, ignoring her mother’s fierce scowl burning into the back of her head.

Tryston’s eyes widened. He looked back at the papers now as if they were invaluable.

Their father grunted humorlessly from beside them. They both turned their heads in unison.

“Father?” Tryston addressed him hesitantly.

“Read your letters then, just don’t let them interfere with your duties,” the burly man ordered dismissively.

Cara sighed inwardly. It was always about duties. He was constantly caught up in maintaining steady profits and good business trades, nothing more. She had hoped her father would have softened over the years with Evelyn’s absence but his neck was too stiff; too prideful. Not unlike their mother.

Lady Bann Trevelyan harrumphed loudly in protest from behind her, but she didn't care. She grabbed her brother’s hand and practically forced him to skip with her towards the gardens. He nearly fell once or twice while he was towed behind.

After a few minutes of traversing the familiar halls, they reached the doors that led outside. Cara turned to Tryston, smiling for the first time in what felt like ages while he politely opened one of the doors for her. She slid past him and thanked him before making her way to the nearest stone bench.

Once they were in the privacy of the hedges she sat down and tucked the letter against her chest, fighting to contain her giddiness and immense sense of relief. Tryston chuckled from above her before he took his seat beside her, sweeping his coattail out of the way.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up in awhile, Cara. Have you already read it?”

She looked up into his deep brown eyes, then. They were smiling, like he was.

He had grown into a tall and handsome man, she realized. Much like their father had once been. Only he looked so different from their father when he lit up like that. He looked younger and less burdened. Of course, the lack of a long, dark beard and protruding belly could have been the difference in appearance between him and Lord Bann Trevelyan as well.

She grinned back before she nodded her head.

“I’ve been so worried for her, Tryston. I feared the worst after she told us she’d been called to attend the Conclave… but she is alive.” A weight felt like it had been lifted from her chest. She could breathe easier knowing their sister survived.

Tryston nodded his head silently in agreement. He stared down at the ground below, his brow furrowed in concern . “I wasn’t sure if she had made it out. Pray tell, what does her letter say?”

“Do you not wish to read it yourself?” Cara’s face fell a little. He'd never not read Evelyn's letters himself. Was he going to start putting distance between himself and their sister, just to appease their parents?

As if she had spoken the thought aloud, he turned to look at her and shook his head, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “It’s not that. I am simply pressed for time. Father has another group of caravan traders that he wishes for me to manage on my own. He will have to go over some things with me before I can do that.”

She felt a little ashamed at her quickness to jump to such a conclusion. She knew she tended to be rash in thought when it came to her family, but her brother deserved more faith than that. Still, she admittedly felt relieved by his answer.

“Would you like me to give you an overview of the letter, then?” She offered.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he nodded gratefully.

Cara had learned to readily deliver summaries of the things her brother had often not had the time to read himself. He normally had an impressive stack of endless papers to sort through. He was going to be learning to take over the family’s trading businesses so her father could have more time for other matters. As a result she frequently spent time with him in his study. There were days where he couldn't take his eyes off of his papers for even a minute, so she often chose to read books to pass the time.

At some point, she had begun to help him with some of the reports and missives and other documents that tended to pile up to ridiculous amounts throughout the day. He was always very vocal in his appreciation of her assistance, so she didn’t mind continuing to help him. It was one of the few things they could spend time together doing anymore.

Sometimes when he had a moment to spare, he would teach her what the documents meant. She learned why certain ones had to be signed for specific things and why others were best left alone until the text could be revised or edited. It was mind-numbing to say the least, but she had gained some useful insight into the trade works and routes of other noble families along with their dealings in Thedas. Tryston had made her swear to not mention his giving her private information to anyone, but she knew better than to say anything.

Cara and her brother held a special bond; one of deep reliance and sibling discretion. There were things they would share only with one another, and over the years she realized he had become more than just her loving brother. He was her dearest friend and comrade, and she trusted him completely. He was a good man, one in whom she looked up to a lot despite them not always seeing eye to eye.

She turned to the papers in hand went on to tell him the contents of Evelyn’s writings.

First she spoke of Evelyn having lost her memories after the Temple of Sacred Ashes fell. She was being called the ‘bloody Herald of Andraste’ by a bunch of men and women who had, until recently, wanted to see her dead. Her brother smirked at that before commenting that their sister's graciously blasphemous word choice for her new title was slightly ironic, considering her position.

Next she summed up the events and the people Evelyn had met. Eventually she got to the end of the letter where their sister admitted she wasn’t sure if she was going to survive closing this ‘breach’ she had written about.

They both looked up then and stared at the eerie, crackling green energy flowing from the hole in the sky, miles away. They sat in prolonged silence, deep in thought, before her brother finally stood and reached to help her up. She took his hand, and he lifted her.

“I pray to the Maker she will be alright,” Cara whispered, voice full of emotion. Tryston embraced her gently, giving her an affectionate squeeze before taking the letters from her. He folded them tenderly for her while he spoke.

“She will. Evelyn is resilient and strong-willed, kind of like someone else I know,” he winked at her teasingly. She rolled her eyes. His face grew somber once more. “Cara, I know she’ll be alright.”

He handed her back their sister’s letter, and she tucked it away softly in the sash of her gown, careful not to crinkle the parchment.

“Thanks, Tryston.”

He gave a slight bow and took his leave, letting her sort through her thoughts in the garden in private.

She watched him go, shaking her head in disbelief at how quickly he had grown up. It seemed just like yesterday they had been teenagers, running around and yelling in the rain while throwing globs of mud at one another.

As if the Maker himself was listening to her thoughts, distant thunder sounded from afar and then was followed by a large drop of water that splatted right onto Cara’s freckled nose.

 

\-----------------------

 

“Oh I do think the Creme of Orchid would suit your olive skin just beautifully, darling! What do you think?”

For the nth time that evening, Cara made a small hum of distracted agreement without taking her eyes off of the passage she was reading.

The rains had continued for weeks, off and on. And today was no different. The sky was darker than usual and was accompanied by the occasional lightning strike and roll of thunder.

It caused her mother to jump every time, much to Cara’s great amusement. It wasn’t that she enjoyed seeing people suffer, but it was more than a little entertaining to see the Bann so worked up over something she couldn’t control.

Another bright streak of lightning flashed outside the window panes, followed by the loudest crack of thunder either of the ladies had heard all day. Cara heard the maidservant squeak in surprise, and her mother actually dropped the expensive silken fabric onto the floor.

“Maker preserve us! We’re going to die!”

“We’re not going to die from a little tempest, mother,” Cara sighed dramatically, finally taking her eyes off of her novel.

“Humph! Unruly child,” her mother muttered in irritation while quickly gesturing for her maidservant to pick up the fabric that _she_ dropped. “Are you going to at least _look_ at the materials or do I have to choose for you?”

“Why must I even bother with having this dress made? I have at least fifty I could choose from!”

“I will **not** let my daughter be seen wearing something that is not in the latest of Orlesian fashion. Certainly not for her twenty-first Nameday celebration! It wold simply be unheard of!” She exclaimed as if in great offense.

Cara mockingly placed her hand over her mouth and widened her eyes as if the very idea of doing anything other than that was preposterous. “Maker forbid I be seen wearing something other than what is so obviously important to the masses! How could I think such a thing??”

The tone was heavily sarcastic, but Lady Bann Trevelyan wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. Her mother beamed at her.

“You see? You do understand! Now tell me, the creme, or the champagne?”

“Ugh,” Cara all but threw her hands up in the air. She was going to be stuck here all day until her mother was satisfied with her choices.

 

 

Only many hours later was she finally released from the cage of a dressing room. If there was one thing Cara hated more than being stuck inside all day with no escape it was those things Orlesians considered to be ‘fashionable’. Of her entire wardrobe, she had only ever **once** been allowed to wear the same ridiculous dress twice.

Her mother cared very much for appearances and was constantly seeking her personal tailor’s fashion advices. She would not wear the same attire ever again. She also did not dare let any of her noble friends see her in anything less than what Cara had decided was extremely outlandish taste. Her mother had once tried to convince her that having her hair weaved into a semblance of a bird nest while wearing a _live_ bird of paradise in its center would be the ‘envy of the town’. Needless to say, Cara wasn’t convinced, and her mother had ended up with an atrocious mess of bird droppings in her hair.

Cara watched her slippered feet as they moved across the marble floor. She could see the reflection of the windowed hallway from the polished stone's surface. She halted her trudging and lifted her head to watch the heavy rain pelt the glass.

It truly was a dreadful day outside. The wind was blowing something awful, causing their many large trees to sway so much she feared they might fall by the time the storm would subside. The sky, despite the distant green tear, was so dark she could almost believe it was time to retire for the evening. It wasn’t a minute past noon.

The rain continued to pour. She could just make out the stables from where she was behind the water-streaked glass. The horses were, thankfully, being transferred from the open walls of their holding pens to the safe enclosure of the large barn shed.

One of the large animals suddenly reared in the air and the stable hand lost his hold on the lead rein. Several of the staff surrounded the horse, trying to calm it down, but it bolted straight through the yard. It managed to jump a fence and then disappeared from her view.

Cara never ran so fast in heels in her life. She was outside moments later, ignoring the damage the weather was doing to her gown. She marched over to a frantic group of stable hands, who stopped immediately when they saw her approaching.

“M’lady! Ya shudn’t be out here! ‘Tis a nasty storm a’brewin’!” one of the older men shouted over the deafening wind.

“I appreciate your concern! Tell me, which way did the horse go?” she yelled back, barely able to hear herself. She clutched her violently flowing skirts, doing her best to keep them from flying up and showing off her under layers.

“He took off that’a way, m’lady! I think it best we don' go chasin’ ‘im 'til aft' this storm blows o'er!”

“Duly noted! Thank you!”

Not bothering to heed his warning, she ran in the direction he pointed.

Her hair was falling out of the neatly braided halo her maidservant had worked so hard on earlier that morning, but her hair was the last thing she was worried about right then.

If ever a person loved horses as much as the renowned Horse Master Dennet, it was probably Cara. Ever since she could remember she had been in love with them. Something about them drew her in, not unlike a moth to a flame.

The stables were the closest thing that had felt like home to her. The horses would always greet her with quiet whinnies and soft eyes, and she felt like she could just be herself there, with no one to judge her and nothing to make her feel miserable. Her brother often found her out there, brushing the steeds or happily dozing off in an occupied stall. The creatures never seemed to mind her company though, and the stable hands were always kind to her.

And now one was run off, probably scared out of its poor mind. And Cara was set on finding it before the storm could do any serious harm.

She reached the edge of the inner courtyard and could see some of the gardeners hastily attempting to upright a few smashed hedges. She assumed she was on the right track and kept running.

The wind was doing its best to slow her progress, she noticed with mild frustration. It continued to blow her now completely undone hair around like a whip. She tried to keep the long strands out of her eyes and mouth as best she could but with little success.

In her desperate attempts to tie her hair back she didn’t notice the mud lining the path, and soon she found herself plunging feet first into the cold sludge. Slimy goop slipped through her stockings and in between her toes.

“Oh, just lovely,” she shivered from the unpleasantness of it all. She attempted to lift her feet from the ankle-deep pool, but the mud had suctioned the lacy heels down tightly and seemed set on keeping them there. She groaned.

“I really don’t have time for this,” she complained to the sky, blinking against the drops that rained down from above. After deciding to abandon the shoes, she marched on in her soaked stockings.

Eventually the trail of mud that the steed left behind led to the front of the estate where, much to her relief, it stood pinned back by some of the servants.

They had gathered in a circle around it, keeping their arms high so the horse wouldn’t break the line. Cara could hear its terrified shrieks and snorts from where she stood, so she quickened her pace until she was at the front gates.

She broke into the line of servants. The woman next to her gasped in surprise, not having heard her approach.

“My lady! Stay back. You could get seriously hurt!”

Cara nodded in acknowledgment but continued her slow advance towards the panicked stallion.

He watched her closely with fearful, white-rimmed eyes. Rearing up and then finally coming down on all four legs, he tried to backing up into the outer walls. She knew he had no where to go, and watched him just as closely.

She’d didn’t recognize this horse, and she knew all of their holding's steeds by heart. But wow was he magnificent; like something straight out of her fairytale books.

He was easily seventeen hands high with a flawless, sleek black coat. All solid muscle and beauty; a knight’s horse, she would have called it in her childhood days. His powerful limbs contracted and flexed with each nervous step, but she could see the tense restraint behind them. He was a strong beast, and could probably run for many miles before stopping. And he absolutely took her breath away.

“Easy now,” she cooed gently, just enough to be heard above the storm. The animal tossed his head, making sounds of warning as she continued to creep forward. His ears remained flat towards his back.

She heard a manservant whisper urgently for her to retreat, but she wasn’t listening.

“Nice and easy, boy. That’s right, no need to be afraid,” she slowly reached out with her hands. The stallion’s protests were beginning to lessen, and she could see something akin to careful interest in his copper eyes. She couldn’t help smiling at him.

“I’m only here to help,” she continued. She felt a little ridiculous talking to the horse so casually in front of so many people, but she cared more about getting him to safety than of the servants’ opinions of her sanity.

She was so close now, just an arm’s length away from his rope. She noticed he tried to back up again, only to have his rear end hit the front gates. The whites of his eyes were not quite as visible now but even still, she didn’t want to completely corner him and then frighten him all over again.

So she stood still, palm flat and out towards him, patiently waiting.

The wind continued to pick up, but the rain had finally slowed to a drizzle, stinging her skin and chilling her to her bones. She shivered, feeling bumps rise along her uncovered arms.

Her patience was rewarded in the end. After what seemed like an eternity of a tense moment he finally took a couple of small steps towards her. She beamed, pride swelling in her once he finally touched the soft, warm end of his nose to her palm. He huffed gently at the contact.

“There’s a good boy,” she smiled, slowly running her hand along the front of his face, stroking him. He shook his head a little but continued to simply watch her as she gathered his lead rein.

Cara could hear several of the servants let out long exhales from behind her, as if they had been holding their breaths. They lowered their arms and broke out of formation, smiling at her and shaking their heads in bewilderment.

They probably thought she was crazy, but she didn’t mind. What mattered was getting her new friend out of the storm and into the shelter of their spare barn.

With no shoes, mud-soaked stockings and a ruined dress she walked with him, smiling the entire way back across the grounds while softly chatting sweet nothings into his ear.

 

 

Once she was back inside, Cara stealthily maneuvered through the corridors. She stayed on her toes as much as she could and tried her best not to leave any puddles or muck in her wake.

She was almost to her rooms; just one more flight of stairs and around one more corner. She could sneak in and change quickly and no one would even know about her little incident in the courtyard.

Or so she had hoped. Just around the last corner was the one person she feared of happening across the most.

Before Cara could even stop herself from running into her, sudden and shrill outcries flooded the halls and hurt her ears sorely. She had to fight herself to not groan out loud when her mother grasped her arms and began fretting hysterically.

“Maker preserve me, child! What did you do?? You look like a Chasind witch on the verge of death!” She turned to the small elf beside her. “Quickly, Tilly, draw her a bath at once!”

Her maidservant departed instantly.

“Darling we must get you changed at once, lest you catch a nasty head cold!”

The Bann guided her away, frantically rubbing her arms to try and keep her warm. Cara grudgingly allowed herself to be dragged to her rooms. Despite her mother’s kind attentions, she knew she was never going to hear the end of this.

Little did she know that a certain pair of watchful eyes had witnessed the entire incident in the outer yard from up the hill, just bordering the side of their estate. And they had continued to follow her, anchored to her every movement, until she was no longer in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The introduction is out, and the feedback is greatly appreciated! If you guys have any tips feel free to share, I love hearing back from my readers. Until the Next chapter, my lovelies!!


	2. Phantoms in The Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She couldn't stay any longer. The game was not something she was willing to risk her happiness to play. A stranger has been watching her carefully, waiting for the right moment to reveal himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay! I have had no internet for over two weeks, but I hope to get the next couple of chapters out within a few days. In case you didn't know, chapter one has been slightly altered.

The messenger took his own sweet time to approach the stables. He treaded the path carefully with his silver platter in hand, and she idly watched him from her new favorite outpost; inside of Kaulder’s stall.

The large stallion was nibbling at her dark hair playfully, obviously attempting to get her eyes off of her book and on him. It worked, and soon Cara was grinning and rubbing the horse’s neck affectionately.

“My lady,” a voice called out from the opening of the stables. Kaulder raised his head up and looked at the courier curiously.

“I’ll be right there,” she answered back. She gave her fuzzy friend a few pats on the shoulder before turning to leave. He neighed softly after her.

Before she reached the messenger man she attempted to do away with the silly smile on her face that horse always seemed to bring her. As a noble, she was bred to be proper, and grinning stupidly at a subordinate was not something the masses approved of. The servant stood rather upright when she met him, all the while eyeing Kaulder warily.

“Letters for you, ma’am,” he said stiffly as he bowed. The man’s eyes repeatedly darted back between her and the horse while he held out the metal tray he carried. Cara could see the stack of bound papers that rested neatly on top. She took them and held them to her chest.

“Thank you, ser courier. Now, if you would excuse me,” she nodded politely.

He all but scurried away. She couldn’t help wondering if the man simply disliked Kaulder or if he was, for whatever reason, afraid of him. Perhaps of horses in general.

She sorted through the papers in her hand and read the addresses carefully. One was from her brother, who had departed for Orlais nearly a fortnight ago. Another was from that blasted, balding Duke. The last three were from…

“Evelyn!” she gasped. As if afraid the Bann had suddenly developed superhuman hearing and could hear her from all the way outside, she looked around before quickly making her way back into Kaulder’s stall. He snorted a content greeting upon her return.

Normally she would have taken her letters to the drawing room where she usually read. But after the storm incident nearly a month ago, she wasn’t sure if her mother was quite back to rights just yet. She didn’t want to risk another earful of fretting and scolding.

She flinched as she recalled the weeks that had followed her chase out in the storm.

 

…………………………………

 

“What will I do if I lose my only daughter to poor health conditions? Unacceptable!” her mother all but sobbed as she lathered some odd herbal mix onto her back. The bath water wasn’t as hot as Cara might have liked, and she continued to shiver as she sat half-in and half-out of the large metal basin.

“People do not die from colds, mother,” she sighed tiredly, wishing she could just sink into the water and drown out the constant noises coming from the woman above her. She did not miss a beat at how coldly her mother had called Cara her ‘only daughter.’ She frowned.

“For which you should be grateful for!” her mother exclaimed with her usual grace, which was none. “Tilly, fetch more water. And do heat it up! The poor girl will freeze to death.”

“At once, your grace,” the hand maid bowed before disappearing from her rooms.

They were alone. Cara shifted uncomfortably in the tub, waiting for the lengthy silence to be broken. It soon was.

“Oh Cara, my sweet, baby girl.” her mother stopped scrubbing the herb mix and ran her fingers through Cara’s dark hair, which was nearly black when wet. “Just what were you doing out in that wretched rain?”

Cara froze. She knew Lady Trevelyan greatly disapproved of her being with the horses. It was another one of her ‘unlady-like qualities.’

“Your dress is in utter tatters, and your shoes must be tossed out immediately. Surely actions so drastic must have a good reason behind them, hm?”

Now she was using her diplomatic voice, asking for information in a way that had her feeling trapped with no escape but to tell her the truth. Not wanting to answer, Cara began to distractedly whistle a random tune before submerging completely. She blew some bubbles from under the water for dramatic effect.

“For the Maker's sake! Cara Avril Trevelyan, you will stop being so childish and come up from there this instant!”

 

…………………………………

 

She had been confined to her quarters for nearly a week. She'd certainly felt twelve all over again, what with the scolding and being made to dine privately with her slightly insane mother for every single meal.

During those long hours, Lady Bann Trevelyan had severely reminded her of her place as a noble woman, which was supposedly _not_ with the horses. Cara nearly had a fit herself when the Bann made her lady’s maid lecture her on the basics of manners and proper etiquette like she was still a child. She was to be twenty-one in a little over three months, for Andraste’s sake.

It wasn’t until right before Tryston was to depart for Val Royeaux that her had mother finally begun to treat her like her age again.

Cara had always felt like a prisoner here. She was screaming inside to be heard for who she was and not adored for the aristocratic puppet her mother, along with the rest of the masses, had her play as. The lengthy books, the stables, and her brother were some of her few escapes from the harshness of nobility. If her mother had her way, even those could be taken from her in time.

She pulled herself away from her depressed thoughts. With the letters in hand, she decided to open the missive from the Duke first. Better to be done with it and get it out of the way. Her stomach tightened sickeningly when she read of his poetic sentiments of adoration and undying love for her. Andraste preserve her! The man was nearly fifty! Unbelievably rich perhaps but far too old for this to be appropriate.

She crumpled his sleazy, love-sick letter and tossed it onto the wooden pallet of the stall. Kaulder lowered his head to the parchment and sniffed it a couple of times. Cara watched him, arching her brow as he bit soundly into the paper and began to chew.

The snorting guffaws that escaped her were completely unexpected and not at all lady-like. A couple of the stable boys jumped in surprise.

“There’s a smart boy!” she grinned up at him from the stool she sat on. He nickered quietly. She patted him lovingly on the neck and subdued the last bits of her laughter before continuing on to the other letters.

The next one was addressed to her from her brother. Tryston wrote of the usual, like being irritatingly harassed by the bachelors of Orlais to think of taking a wife soon. With them the very single and very stately women of Val Royeaux continued to remind him – desperately – of their marriageable eligibility. It never ended for her poor brother when he went to town.

He wrote of a wonderful new dessert he’d tried and promised to bring one back for her, then went on to matters of his business dealings. He asked her what she would do if she had to choose between the three different trade agreements he’d described, to which Cara did not really have an answer.

“Poor Tryston. Such is the difficult life of a gentleman,” she commented dryly to herself.

She saved Evelyn’s letters for last, opening all of them and diving right into the neatly scribbled text.

The first one was very short:

_Cara,_

_Have I lost all sense? I must have. People are wanting me to fix a hole in the sky that pours demons out like water._ Demons, _Cara! And I thought angry Templars were terrifying._

_Also, my left hand glows green now. Magical, right? I forgot to mention that in my last letter. I wish I knew how to turn it off at night so I can actually sleep._

_I’m off to the Breach._

_Wish me luck,_

_Eve_

Cara didn’t exactly understand what Evelyn meant about her hand but she continued on to the second letter. It was even shorter than the first.

_Cara,_

_The tear in the sky is closed._

_Just wanting to let you know I’m alright. I’d write more but I have been unconscious for a few days and am about to pass out again._

_Eve_

She smirked at the parchment. Her sister truly had a way with words.

She noticed the dates scribbled at the tops of the letters. They had certainly taken their time to get to her. Evelyn had sent them not long after the storm hit them. That was almost a month ago.

When she opened the third letter, she saw it had been written only a few days before. She began to scan the text, which was quite a bit longer than her previous writings.

_Dear Cara,_

_So much has happened since I last wrote you. How have you been? Tryston sent me word a while ago but I have yet to hear back from you._

_I’m officially the Herald of Andraste now. If you’ve been in town, you might have heard. If not, I’m here to write you firsthand that yes, people are declaring me as Andraste’s blessed Herald. I’m not sure how I feel about it all._

_The Chantry certainly isn’t happy about it._

_I have been residing in a place called ‘Haven’. Pretty enough, lots of trees and mountains._

_I wish you could meet everyone here. You would be fascinated with Leliana. She’s… let’s just call her a bard. Kind of like you. I’m pretty sure she reads everything I write to you. You and her have similar talents. You’d learn a lot from her._

_Enough with the pleasantries. Cara, something much bigger than any of us is happening and none of it good. I don’t have time to give you details but please be careful. Many are starting to make the connection that I am related to the Trevelyan family, and I know how nobles are with their political gains. Mother may declare me as disowned all she likes, but others won’t find that to be enough._

_Use your skills. Hone them if you have to. I’ll keep in touch._

_Evelyn_

“ _Herald of Andraste”_

Cara’s hands went cold, and she found that she couldn’t quite get up. Her sister seemed like she was in a bad situation. Perhaps their entire family was, from the sounds of things.

Perhaps all of Thedas was in trouble, she thought when she turned to look at the faded green spot in the sky miles away.

She hadn’t used the skills she’d learned during her time in the underworld since she was in her mid-teens. She’d had to keep her training concealed after Tryston found out that she had willingly chose to become secretly apprenticed to an Orlesian Bard.

Tryston knew that most bards were known for being spies. He’d warned her of the severe consequences she could receive if either of their parents found out about her striving to be a rogue. It was one of the secrets that she could only trust him to keep.

She went to put the parchments back into their envelopes when a small, torn piece of paper floated out onto the ground. She picked it up, having to squint to read the tiny writing. The script was messy too, which didn’t help.

_You can help, so can I._

_Midnight at the Steward’s Jig._

That was it. Not a word more.

The penmanship wasn’t her sister’s. In fact, she didn’t recognize it at all. She read the note again before hurriedly shoving it into the bottom of her boot.

Cara looked at Kaulder, who watched her with his ever-curious copper gaze. She put her fingers to her lips and then to the front of his nose, making a shushed sound.

“This is our secret. Okay?”

She could have sworn he nodded his head in understanding. Maybe he was just tossing his head to swat away the flies. She tenderly ran her fingers through his thick, wavy mane before weaving the long hair into tight braids.

 

 

Later that evening, while Cara was mulling over what to do about the mysterious note, she received a repeated knock on the entrance to her chambers.

“Come in.”

One of her doors creaked open to reveal a small, short-haired woman. It was Tilly, her mother’s elven servant.

“The Lord and Lady Bann wish for you to dine with them in the great hall, my lady Trevelyan,” the dainty elf bowed. Cara grinned. She had always liked the little maiden.

“Tilly, I asked you to call me by my given name when it’s just the two of us, remember?” she said. She offered a friendly smile which Tilly returned hesitantly.

“Yes my la- Cara. We will be expecting you shortly.” She gave another small bow before leaving her alone in the confines of her room.

Cara watched her go, wondering which self-important guest had unexpectedly come to their estate at this hour. They never dined in the great hall unless it was a call of some higher-standing matter, or if it was an appointment of a serious affair.

She dismissed her own handmaid’s help and dressed herself in a simple evening gown, the one which her mother had apparently designed for her to match with the night sky.

It was a deep blue with hints of purple that shone chromatically in certain lighting. There was a layer of a sheer, glittery material that sparkled like the stars. Although the overall darker colors made her gray eyes appear to be almost sterling silver in the candlelight, she secretly loved the way she looked in it.

Slowly, she ran her fingers through her hair, releasing it from the simple braid it was tied in. It fell in delicate waves past her shoulders to nearly the middle of her back. She scrutinized her reflection in her dressing mirror and couldn’t help feeling a little surprised. She looked… womanly. She knew she had matured over the years but hadn’t quite spent enough time really looking at herself to see the physical changes.

Her dark hair was, thankfully, the only real similarity between herself and her parents. It wasn’t quite black but it was close. Her frame was slender with generous curves; a perfect hourglass figure. Her mouth turned downward at the faded freckles lightly splashed across her nose and cheeks. Fortunately they were only really visible when she spent too much time in the summer sun.

While the Trevelyans favored dark eyes through the generations, Cara’s were contrastingly pale in color. Their gray depths looked back at her through the reflection curiously, and she watched herself as she turned about in a circle. The shadows from high-set cheekbones moved with her. She had full lips which, when painted, made her appear to be quite refined. She had a straight nose and teeth, and overall was everything most nobles found to be acceptable, if not desirable.

Which is why she usually stayed away from the mirrors.

“Lovely as always, my lady,” her maidservant smiled at her. Cara flushed at the compliment before thanking her and hastily making her way out of her quarters.

She entered the dining hall a bit ungracefully. Luckily no one had noticed her arrival until she had fully recovered herself. Her mother spotted her first, looking at her and then greeting her in an unusually cheery way.

“My beautiful, darling daughter! Joining us at last?”

She made her way to her and kissed her on both of her cheeks, much to Cara’s unending surprise. It seemed her mother was in awfully chipper spirits this evening. The only two men at the table stood in respect at her presence and remained that way until her mother sat her directly next to…

None other than the well-aged, balding Duke who had sent her the gushy letter earlier that day. Cara’s face froze into a calm mask of indifference but inside she was horror-stricken.

The Trevelyans took their meal in awkward silence. Cara briefly entertained the idea of initiating a polite conversation with the man sitting beside her, but thought better of it when she caught him ogling at her a little too intently. She looked away uncomfortably and barely managed the effort it took to swallow her next bite.

The Duke, of course, more than made up for the lack of conversation at the grand table, much to her mother’s approval.

At long last they had made it through the last of the numberless courses of meals, and Cara could have wept with joy. As soon as the last of the tableware was taken away, she promptly stood to dismiss herself and wish the Duke a good night. Her stomach dropped when her father stood with her but then motioned for her to stay.

She unwillingly sat back down, trying very hard to not let her mask slip. Her trembling hands must have given her away because her father spoke quickly.

“Cara, Duke Rondeau has something he would like to ask you.”

She looked to her mother, who nodded at her encouragingly. The woman looked far too pleased with herself for this situation to go anywhere Cara would have considered to be good. Eventually she forced herself to meet the slightly wrinkled eyes of the pompous lecher. The torchlight shone distractingly off of his hairless scalp.

She stiffened when his cold, sweaty hands grabbed hers and held them too tightly, but then paled when he knelt before her.

‘ _No. Oh on. Maker please, no.’_

“Lady Cara Trevelyan, you have long captured my fancy and my attentions at every affair and dance we have ever crossed paths in. I’d fallen headlong for your beauty when we first had the pleasure of meeting.”

Cara had to swallow against the bile threatening to make its way up her throat when he spoke to her like that; dripping with syrupy passion and sickeningly ravenous desire. This could not be happening to her.

She stared at him mutely and open-mouthed in shock when he pulled out a box. With wobbly, wrinkled hands he opened it to reveal a very large and insanely expensive-looking ring, and then held it before her.

“I would be honored if-”

“No.”

A cricket could have chirped as loud as thunder at how quickly silence fell before the room. Her parents looked at her in absolute mortification, but she wasn’t looking at them. She sharply stared down the arrogant Duke, who remained positively floored where he knelt, staring back at her in obvious confusion.

“I… beg your pardon?”

“No. As in not happening. Not as long as I live,” she answered him firmly. She would not be marrying this creep even if he was the last man in Thedas.

Duke Rondeau stood slowly, stroking his hand over his graying chops before shaking his head, smiling in mock disbelief. “I’m sorry, but- but I don’t-”

“I will not accept your hand, _your_ _grace_.”

The painful sting across her face in the next moment was so unexpected that she stumbled back into one of the dining chairs and nearly fell over it. She held her face protectively in her hands, completely dismayed, while fighting off the tears that threatened to surface from the unanticipated slap.

Everything after that happened so fast it sort of blurred together. She remembered seeing the Duke’s hand still raised in the air after he struck her. She remembered his livid eyes as he cursed at her.

“Thankless cur! You dare refuse _my_ hand? Do you even know how much money I control? I could **own** you! Plus fifty!”

She remembered her father personally escorting the Duke out of the dining hall, telling him to never return unless he had a sufficient apology ready, in gold. As if she was something to buy, like the aging Duke himself had said.

She remembered her mother, looking unhappy with the Duke but even more furious with her. She remembered her looking straight into her own, watering eyes and saying, “You’ll never have a chance like this again. Do you realize how much you just turned away? Selfish, foolish girl! I did not raise you to **not** be given the best chance of marrying wealthy!”

The next thing she knew, she was thrown into and locked inside of her chambers, forbidden to leave for the remainder of the night. Her dressing servant had even been ordered to depart, leaving Cara to tear into herself with the consuming hurt from the evening’s events.

The slap had hurt, and still did. She looked pitifully at the reflection of her bruised and swelling face where he had soundly struck her. She took a cream from her dresser top and rubbed in the simple healing balm as gently as she could, applying it to the injured area. A few tears slipped without her permission when she realized her suspicions had been confirmed; she was much more property than family to her parents.

She had always known that they had partially favored her looks and good breeding solely for marrying purposes, but now she understood just how little Cara, not the title-holding noble that was Lady Trevelyan, really meant to them. They’d practically tried to sell her to a Duke who was, by far, much older than was morally right, even if it was done under the name of proposed marriage. All of it, for the pathetic sake of ensuring continued wealth for the family. She’d had enough. Cara was done with the grand game of nobility once and for all.

With determination filling her, she tore her dress, letting it deposit onto the carpet below her bare feet, and made her way into her closet. She grabbed as much as she could: gowns, sashes, scarves, blouses, anything strong enough, and spent the next couple of hours in her smalls tying them from end to end.

When she finished, she let the pile of fabrics lie on the floor and went back into her closet. In the very back, inside of an old, locked chest she’d hidden away, was what she needed. She retrieved its key and turned it until she heard it click, then lifted the lid.

She pulled out its contents: warm, fine linen breeches and a sleeved shirt sat neatly at the top. Along with those were a neutral-colored chemise, dark leather gloves, daggers, belts, pouches, plated boots, and vials of poison. At the bottom of the box a dark gray, velvet cloak lined with soot-colored wool sat on top of her very own custom-tailored, black leather armor. Bits of metal plating on the armor, for some of her more vital areas, shimmered in the yellow candle light.

She had sworn she was done with this part of herself after a particularly bad scrap with a masked spy. Her brother had followed her and brought her back to their manor’s healer. The opposing agent from that day had had the same target as her, and she'd come out of the conflict on top, though just barely.

Her brother had stayed with her through the night, fearing for her safety, and she had promised him she was done playing the bard; that she would leave the life of a rogue behind her.

“Forgive me, Tryston, but I cannot stay here any longer,” she whispered regretfully before she dawned on her equipment. She had to admit to herself, she finally felt whole when she was once again in her favored armor. The practicality and freedom of movement that came with it made a world of difference in comfort, unlike the tight stitching and silly frills from Orlesian clothes.

After she had gathered some essentials and slipped them into her satchel, she returned to her work. The makeshift rope of her wardrobe's contents would hold, hopefully, and she secretly thanked the Maker that her mother had been so insistent on having so many dresses made.

Cara walked over and quietly opened her window, letting the frigid nighttime air wash over her as it dried the last of her rebellious tears. She tossed the line of fine fabrics out and over her balcony, watching as they floated down to the ground, far below.

The evening breeze had blown out all of the candles in her room, but she turned and peered into the darkness one last time before deciding to make her escape.

Something caught her eye. The moonlight was causing something under her bed to glint faintly. She made her way over to it and dropped to her belly. Peering under the wooden frame, she found an impressively beautiful short sword, belted sheath and all, along with the very box from when she'd been in the dining hall, containing the Duke’s ring.

Cara stared, stunned at the strange pile under her bed. She found herself at a loss as to how they got there when she spotted it; a note, attached to the hilt of the steel blade. She reached for the scrap of paper, grabbed the rest of the items and pulled them out.

_Steward’s Jig. Midnight._

Cara felt a chill down her back. Whoever this stranger was, he apparently knew where she slept. They also somehow knew about the Duke’s failed proposal  from earlier. The realization made her just a touch uncomfortable.

She pulled the other note from her armored boot, written unmistakably by the same hand, and held them side by side. The underlying message was the same.

With new-found purpose and direction, Cara stashed the antique ring away in her satchel, planning to trade it for a hefty sum later, and then belted on the sheathed sword.

From the darkness of her room, she let the moonlight be her guide and silently swung over the edge of the balcony.

 

…………………………………

 

‘ _Kaulder should be re-named_ _M_ _agic_ _C_ _arpet,’_ Cara thought to herself. His warhorse legs thundered below him with each long stride, and Cara could have squealed happily into the nighttime air at the freeing feeling of riding for the first time in ages. He was a smooth runner, barely making her bounce each time his hooves made contact with the ground. The wind stung her cheeks as they flew.

She imagined they looked like quite the pair. Galloping by in her dark cloak astride the black steed, they were phantoms in the night. Somehow, she managed to keep the long and heavy hood of her cloak over her face as they rode, taking care not to not be recognized by any late night travelers.

A small huff came from in front of her and she smiled, placing her hand on the side of his barreled chest. She enjoyed the feeling of his short and steady breaths as he moved, and she soon found herself matching his rhythm.

“Let’s see just how fast you can really go,” she whispered into his ears, which perked up when he listened to her voice. She tapped her heels into his haunches, instantly reaching for the pommel of his saddle when he powerfully bolted into a new level of speed.

 

 

Windblown and positively giddy, Cara dismounted from the saddle and held Kaulder’s soft head in her arms, hugging him tenderly. He had to lower his neck quite a ways to reach her, but he didn’t seem to mind.

They were a little ways from the Tavern, but she decided to keep them out of sight along the borders of the trees, off the path, lest someone suspect her. She tied him to a small post, rubbing his nose before reaching for some oats she kept in a small bottle. Kaulder eagerly attempted to shove his large head into her entire bag, but she swatted him away.

“Impatient thing, aren’t you?” she rolled her eyes and held out a palm full of oats, which he munched on contently. “I’ll be back shortly.”

 _'I hope,'_ she worried silently.

Cara marched up the small hillside from where her horse was tied. She checked around her to see if the road was clear before making her way to the tavern. A large, painted sign hung above the doorway. It was a jester and a man, supposedly a steward, and they were cheerily clanging their mugs together.

‘ _The Steward’s Jig,’_ she inhaled deeply. Collecting herself and commanding her nerves to be quiet, she removed her cowl and pushed the door open.

The smell of hot food, strong drink, and musty sweat instantly overwhelmed her. The torchlight was bright and was a welcome change of sight from the dim glow of the moon she’d been riding in. Roaring laughter erupted from somewhere in the room, and several heads turned to stare at her curiously. She swallowed and quickly made her way to the bartender who, most hygienically, spat into a mug before he wiped the flem around with a stained cloth. She tried not to crinkle her nose in disgust.

“A bit late for a pretty thing like you to be out and about,” the scruffy man winked at her in a way that didn’t sit well in her gut. She forced herself to at least look relaxed before giving him a sweet smile.

“You don’t happen to have any sparkling cider in your stock, do you hun?” She leaned against the counter in a way most men would probably appreciate, which was her intention. The man’s mouth seemed to suddenly go dry when her cloak slipped to the side and revealed a bit of a generous view of her curves. Cara nearly snickered.

Men. Too easy.

“I s’pose I have a bottle or two lying ‘round,” he smirked lewdly at her before moving on through a door just past the bar. It most likely lead to the cellar.

Cara took the moment to sit back and observe the atmosphere of the room. She tried not to be obvious that she was looking for someone and ended up picking at her finger nails every now and then, trying to appear uninterested in her surroundings.

To her disappointment, nothing odd had stood out from the crowd other than one man’s particularly high-pitched peal of laughter. Sooner than she would have liked, the hairy tavern owner returned with a small glass and a bottle. She tossed him a few silvers, which he expertly caught. His face immediately looked to the side of her, and his confidence from earlier seemed to dissolve entirely.

“Ah, and would your… friend like something as well?”

“My friend?” She looked next to her and flinched in surprise. A mere moment ago, she had been sure she was sitting alone, and now suddenly she wasn’t. The stranger seemed to have simply appeared out of thin air.

“No thanks,” the scrawny young man beside her replied in a wisp-like tone.

The barman shrugged, then went off to wipe down some table or other in the room.

She warily stared at the stranger for a long moment, and when he finally turned to look at her, she gasped.

His eyes... Maker they were nearly devoid of all color. She couldn’t decide if they were really light blue or frosty, like ice.

His skin was pale and tight on his bones. His wiry hair was the lightest blonde she’d ever seen. His face was sallow, not unlike the rest of him, and his clothes were worn and peculiar. He wore a tattered shirt and pants and a very large, very unusual hat. He looked a lot like a patched scarecrow brought to life.

‘ _What an odd person,’_ she though while taking a small sip of her cider.

“Hello,” he greeted her. She stopped, looked at him, and then looked back over her shoulder. Seeing no one behind her, she met his pale gaze once more and hesitantly answered him.

“Hello… to me? You’re talking to me, right?”

“Yes, if that’s alright,” he offered her a strange twist of his mouth. It wasn’t quite a smile, but she gave him one of her own in return.

“I don’t see why it wouldn't be.”

They sat in silence while she downed her fifth cup. He sat and watched her with his ghastly eyes. With every passing minute, she grew increasingly uneasy. Unable to take the discomfort anymore, she finally turned to him and sighed.

“Would you like me to buy you a drink-”

“She was right about you,” he interrupted her. Cara stared at him quizzically.

“I’m sorry?”

“She was right about you. You _can_ help,” he said almost excitedly. This young man was confusing her more and more every time he opened his mouth.

“Help?” She furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”

“Follow,” he said. She blinked once, and he was gone.

She sat there motionless, drink still in hand, when the bartender returned and offered to refill her cup. When she didn’t respond, he tapped the counter loudly several times.

She looked at him with wide, blank eyes. He stared at her, slightly concerned.

“I’m more than sure that cider was non-alcoholic, but you don’t look too well, miss. Perhaps ya ought to get a breath of fresh air.”

She nodded her head in agreement, abandoning her cup on the counter. She looked at the empty stool the boy had just been sitting at before dazedly making her way back out of the tavern.

Immediately on the other side of the door was the stranger in the tall hat. Cara stumbled backwards up the steps, hand reaching automatically for the short sword at her waist.

“Maker’s breath! You keep doing that and I’m going to have a heart attack,” she whispered accusingly, immediately retreating her hand from the weapon.

The young man looked at her strangely before replying, “No you won’t.” It sounded like a question.

“It’s an expression,” she explained, looking at him oddly as she slowly made her way back down the steps. She was directly in front of him, and he continued to openly stare at her in silence. She stood, hesitantly rocking back and forth on the soles of her feet while she debated on asking him about his inexplicable departure from the bar.

“He was afraid,” his thin mouth began to move again, cutting into her thoughts. “He was afraid, but you went to him in all the noise.”

“Went to who?”

He grinned at her before he turned and began to walk away. She slumped her shoulders, utterly confused, before she chose to follow him. When a couple passed them by on the road, she slipped her hood back on.

Eventually he led her to the hillside she had hidden Kaulder at. The boy kept moving forward, down the hill, and she continued to follow him from a few paces back.

“You have a special heart. He knows it, she knows it...” he continued to mumble on as he made it to the post where her horse was tied. Kaulder looked up at them and greeted them happily.

The strange boy walked right up to him, without hesitation, and it took everything in Cara not to warn the boy to not approach him so briskly, lest he might get kicked. To her bitter surprise, Kaulder willingly offered his nose towards the young man, calmly letting him stroke his face.

“...and _I’ve_ seen it,” he finished.

“What is your name?” Cara found herself asking. She had so many questions for this mysterious stranger but first she needed to know who he was and why, she thought defensively, he was so damn familiar with her horse.

The boy patted Kaulder one more time and walked over to where she stood observing him. He stopped in front of her, and pointed to her waist.

“You found them,” he said simply.

She looked down at the sheathed sword and could feel the bulge of the ring in her bag. All at once, the pieces began to connect, and she looked at him incredulously.

“That was _you?_ The notes, the sword, the ring,” she said as it all dawned on her. She stopped, eyeing him mistrustfully. “Somehow you knew about the Duke, didn’t you? But how is that possible? There was no one else with us in the hall.”

“I tried. I had to make you all forget. I didn’t want to frighten you again,” he said, as if that was the answer to all her questions. She pinched the middle of her brow, fighting off the headache that was beginning to form between her eyes from this man’s riddled way of speaking. She took a deep breath and tried again.

“Okay look, let’s just start from the beginning. If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours?”

He cocked his head to the side. “You’re Cara Trevelyan.”

Ah. So he knew her.

“Evelyn said you were her favorite,” he added softly.

Cara’s eyes lit up at the mention of her sister. Before she could even begin ask the hundred more questions that came to her head, the thin man continued, taking his hat off and holding it in front of him as he spoke.

“I’m Cole. I came to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You! Yes you! Thank you for reading the second chapter of many more to follow:) The positive feedback I've seen from this story only further encourages me to keep writing, so thank you! I welcome any comments, tips, or suggestions so please feel free to share. Until the next chapter, dears!


	3. Between A Rock and A Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen finally makes an appearance!! Sorry about the shorter chapter, it was originally so long that I had to split it in two.

The frost was finally beginning to thaw on the trees, Cullen observed as he picked at the sliced bark of a tall pine. Which meant he would no longer have to wear his heavier winter vest. He looked forward to when he could be without it.

The recent cold season had been harsher than the last, making it difficult for his tribesmen to hunt successfully. Even he, the Thane, had to leave his hold with a separate hunting party on more than one occasion to help increase their chances of bringing back enough sustenance. Not that Cullen minded being away from his duty as Thane, which at times could burn him out to the point of him being struck ill with fatigue.

He’d never show it, but he was relieved to simply be a fellow hunter for the day instead of the answer to everyone’s problems.

“My Thane.”

His Master of the Hunt, Rylen, appeared beside him, barely visible in the snow with his clay-painted skin. He moved his arm across his chest in a salute before arming his spear. Cullen gestured to the place he had been tracking their prey. Rylen looked, then nodded and motioned for the other hunters to move in. A group of six painted men and women emerged from the shadows of the trees, weapons drawn and moving deathly quiet. The herd of Harts they’d been hunting for days hadn’t noticed them yet. This was their chance.

Cullen swiftly unslung his bow and with a strong, practiced arm, drew an arrow against the snug twine cord. He remained crouched, moving low with the tundra’s trees, taking care that his boots didn’t crunch too loudly in the snow.

One of the Harts, a large male buck with numerous points on his rack, lifted his head suddenly in their direction. Cullen stopped immediately, remaining as motionless as possible, all the while knowing that the rest of his hunters had done the same. He watched it for a long moment, waiting until well after the buck had lowered his head back down to graze on the thawed patches of green. He signaled with his hand to press forward.

They were at an ideal distance now. He stood slowly, straightening out as silently as he could, and drew back on the sturdy bow. He inhaled, deeply and steadily, letting the bite of the frigid air fill his lungs and heighten his awareness of his surroundings. Then, breathing out just as steadily, he released the twine and watched the arrow fly and hit its mark.

The male Hart went down instantly. A clean kill.

The rest of the party moved in swiftly after that, aiming and throwing their spears and firing their arrows into the frenzied herd. He watched as Rylen’s spear pierced deeply into the haunch of a large female. She stumbled and fell to the ground with a cry, but was quickly recovering from the unsuspecting attack. He chased after Rylen to help him finish her off.

His Master of the Hunt was already on top of it, easily slipping his blade into the heart of the doe. Her head fell to the earth, lifeless.

Cullen turned suddenly at a pained shout from one of the hunters. One of the younger members of the party, Varrene, was on the ground below the dangerous, rearing legs of another large buck. He only had seconds to act before it would come down and kill her with its crushing weight and sharp hooves. Luckily, he hadn’t been the only one to hear her cry, and none too soon did several arrows hit and knock the beast safely out of the way.

The archer who fired the life-saving shot looked to the Thane and nodded towards Varrene before he ran after the retreating herd, along with the other hunters.

Cullen slung his bow over his shoulder and quickly trudged over to where she lay. He was still a few feet away from her when he spotted crimson blood seeping into the snow beside her, and she looked up at him with worried eyes. He knelt by her once he reached her side and pulled out a strip of bandage from his pouch. It was the one he’d woven together days ago from some soft tree bark he’d happened upon.

“Show me your arm,” he ordered in his native Avvar tongue. She looked at him, dazed and unmoving. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Varrene An Guern, give me your arm or you’ll bleed to death.”

His stern words finally seemed to reach her as he watched her eyes widen in startled understanding. She did as he said and held out her arm for him to get a better look, all the while caressing it and whimpering in pain.

Upon his closer inspection, he could see that the Hart’s antlers had cut deep, just missing the spot closest to her artery near her shoulder. Cullen knew all too well of the awful hurt she was suffering from right now and could only imagine the horrid scar it would leave behind, but she would live.

It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, and the novice hunters that survived their injuries learned quickly from their mistakes. He imagined this hunter would do the same; being sure to not ever again leave her backside exposed during future hunts. He shook his head at how close she had been to being killed before he dressed her wound. The gods must have been watching over her in their hunt.

He tied off the fibrous cloth and tore it with his teeth before taking her belt and wrapping it around her like a sling. He then cinched her bandaged arm close against her chest and looked her over to make sure he was satisfied with his work. Once he was, he slowly helped her stand. She stumbled at first, but he quickly caught her.

“Put your arm over me,” he told her gently, and she complied.

Cullen ignored the obvious flush of her cheeks as he braced her against his muscled side. He held her good arm across his shoulders and guided her back to their party’s pack sleds. He helped her sit, checking on her one last time to be sure she was fine before he returned to the site of their hunting grounds.

Rylen and the others were already dragging the carcasses back across the snow. From what he could see, he counted at least seven fallen beasts, one of them only large enough to have been in its first year of life. Even so, he couldn’t help grinning in satisfaction. The hold would celebrate their success upon their return of course, and they would have enough skins and meat to suffice them for the final weeks of cold ahead. The time of warmth and blooming was something everyone in his clan was greatly looking forward to. Himself included.

He went to help one of the hunters who struggled to move a Hart on his own, and grabbed onto its heavy rack before pulling. Together they moved towards the sleds, where the rest of the hunters were loading and tying down their kills.

One of his kinsmen passed him, and heartily placed a firm hand on his tattooed shoulder.

“The Lady has smiled generously upon us this day, my Thane,” he said excitedly. Cullen nodded in agreement.

“Aye, Avam. She has indeed.”

The hunter grinned and patted him once before moving to retrieve the last of the prey. Cullen grinned to himself as he watched his hunters merrily pack their sleighs, readying themselves for the long trek back. They were all eager to get home.

 

…………………………………

 

“So... you’re trying to tell me that you’re a _spirit_ of some sort? After all this time?”

Cara had traveled with Cole for nearly seven weeks since he had called her to the Swindler’s Jig, in the middle of the night. Or really, _he_ had continued to follow _her_ in her travels for those weeks.

Sometimes he would disappear, without warning, for a whole day. Sometimes he was gone for longer than that. Other times he would tell her that he was needed back and would disappear from her camp by sunrise. Somewhere along the way, Cara had realized that Cole was communicating between her and her sister, Evelyn, but she didn’t know why. During most of the time she traveled though, he would tag along and stay with her, day and night. She had begun to see him as something akin to her sentinel, keeping watch over her in the late hours of the night. It was comforting in an odd way, especially when she would immediately collapse into her tent after a hard day’s ride.

Cole was a good person– spirit, and was protective of her. Overall he was… strange, but kind, and he kept her company while she remained on the move. Even though she was not entirely sure of where she was even headed, he didn’t seem to mind staying.

“Yes,” he answered her question is his faraway, wisp-like voice. “Most people forget me. You do too sometimes, until I come back,” he said, looking down at her happily from atop Kaulder’s saddle. It had become his favorite perch during their travels.

“I’m working on the memory part,” she replied apologetically, leading them through the tree-covered hillside.

Cara didn’t know why she let the young man ride her horse if he was indeed a spirit and could most likely travel as far as he wanted whenever he wanted. At times, she couldn’t help wondering if he was perhaps a demon of some sort. She wasn't even sure if there were such things as truly friendly demons. However, Evelyn had assured her in her last letter, which had been unexpectedly hand-delivered by a suddenly appearing Cole during a private bathroom break in the woods, that he wasn’t a demon. But that he was somehow a spirit and a person all in one, and he just wanted to help people.

“Dark, cold, wet. The red haunts her day and night. She can’t forget their faces, but they weren’t there. They don’t remember. She does, though. She’ll never forget,” he mumbled, staring off into the vastness of the trees.

Cara noticed he did that sometimes; spouted random words as if he were thinking out loud. She didn’t understand him very well, especially when he did talk to himself like that, but she had begun to care for Cole. He was almost like a little brother, in an odd spirit-y sort of way. He seemed so innocent in the ways of the world, and she enjoyed his easy excitement whenever a rabbit or small fox happened across their path.

In a way, he was very much like a child.

The thought of Cole being like her brother suddenly made her wonder how Tryston was fairing. She had only sent him a single letter, once, about three weeks after she’d left. She hadn’t bothered telling him where she was other than that she was fine and would write him again when she could. She imagined him being nearly ready to tear his hair out in anxiety at her unexpected departure, with only a vague message to reassure him of how she was doing thereafter.

Picturing her brother worrying about her made her sigh. The last few months had been the longest she’d ever been away from home. There had been days during her training as a bard that she had written excuses to Lord and Lady Trevelyan for her prolonged absences. During the times she was away with the rogue, she had been able to mostly get away with it, but never for more than one week at a time. It felt unfamiliar yet liberating being on her own. She finally felt free.

She and Cole had traveled through several towns over the weeks, refreshing supplies when they could and gaining a little more along the way than what she had started with. At one district near a port, she had managed to finally sell the deuced Duke’s ring. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the mysterious buyer. He had been… peculiar; gracious in a way she had never personally experienced before.

He had been leaning in the darkness of an empty alley in the town when Cara had noticed him. He had beckoned to her from under his cloak, and she had gone up to him, alone and in the shadows, despite the warnings in her head of the idiotic risk she knew she was taking.

“You are a traveler,” he had declared with certainty, not bothering to remove his hood. His voice had been liquid honey, and his accent was strongly Antivan.

She had nodded once in confirmation, not bothering to reveal her identity, either. Two could play at the faceless game of anonymity.

“I don’t supposed you’d happen to have anything that may interest me?” he’d said, patting the clinking gold in his concealed bag for emphasis. She’d smirked at him.

“As a matter of fact, I might.”

That was when she had pulled out the antique box. He had stood upright, his curiosity obviously peaked. Then she had opened it, under the isolation of her cloak, and his eyes had lit up at once. Judging from his reaction, Cara had guessed this man knew just how valuable the piece of jewelry she was offering was just from sight alone. A professional, then, she’d concluded. His dismissive mask had slipped.

It was then he’d removed his cowl.

To her surprise, the man had been an elf. It had been difficult to make out any other features in the dark shadows of the alley besides the unique and simple tattoo which had run prettily along his cheek in two curved lines . His light hair had been longer than most elven men wore it, and the grin he’d flashed her was all suave confidence.

“I’m willing to pay a good sum of money for that item, my dear lady,” he’d told her in a low voice. She had felt the blood drain from her face when he’d called her that.

“Your family crest?” he’d explained softly, seeing the discomfort on her features. She’d followed his finger he pointed with to her family ring, perfectly shiny and plainly in sight on her hand. Damn, she hadn’t even thought about hiding that.

“I don’t supposed you would happen to have a simple silverite chain on you to add to your offer, would you?” she’d asked in a hushed tone. The Antivan had chuckled.

“Anything for a beautiful woman such as yourself,” he’d said cordially, then had cupped her chin and lifted it up teasingly to peak at her face beneath her hood. She’d grinned at him, feeling inexplicably drawn to the warm mannerisms of the stranger, and had agreed to a deal.

Coming out of the memory she’d momentarily lost herself in, she smiled to herself and went to touch the bump of a ring that sat low against her chest on its chain, hidden beneath her linen shirt and armor. The silverite family ring lay gently against her warm skin.

The bag of gold from the Antivan elf, however, sat quite heavily in the satchel against her hip. She’d nearly put it in one of her spare saddlebags, but then thought better of it. Kaulder was intelligent and had proved himself unusually loyal to her, but he was still a horse. She wouldn’t put it past him to take off should something spook him badly enough.

Kaulder let out a long huff, making that noise horses sometimes do when they’re bored. She stopped to stroke his face, then noticed the sun was beginning to set low in the sky.

“Time to make camp,” she announced tiredly.

Cole hopped down from the saddle and stood nearby, holding the reins while she unpacked her saddlebags. Soon enough, she had pitched her tent, with the bedroll unraveled inside, and went on to build a fire. She had just tossed on the last of the kindling when Cole approached her and knelt beside her.

“The wood is damp, I don’t know if I can get it to light,” she told him.

“Let me help?” he offered. She stood and looked at him curiously. She motioned her arm towards the log pile, inviting him to give it a try. He brought his hands together and rubbed them, as if he were trying to warm them. Then he whispered to himself.

“Burn.”

The kindling immediately ignited, making Cara step back in astonishment. The fire was already going in a matter of seconds. Cole smiled up at her, almost embarrassed.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” she said in fascination. He stood and watched the fire, eyes glued to the dancing flames.

“I didn’t either.”

 

 

Cara managed to bring back some berries she scavenged, along with a large, dead fowl of some sort. She tossed her used bush trap into her tent before sitting down and getting to work on plucking the feathers. She hummed happily as she worked, occasionally looking up to find Cole watching Kaulder munching happily from his oat sack. She smiled at the odd pair the two of them made.

“What is it like to love?” Cole asked suddenly, his gaze once again lowered back to the fire.

Cara nearly choked on the berries she had just shoved into her mouth, but managed to swallow them without spluttering too much. She gave him an exasperated look.

“Pardon?”

“Love,” he repeated. “It’s something only _people_ seem to be able to feel.” He stood again, looking at her before cocking his head to the side. “What is it like?”

“You always ask the easy questions, don’t you Cole?” she smiled humorlessly at his sober expression.

Her smile faded and she let her gaze roam to the fire. Her eyes followed the embers that rose from the flames, thoughtfully watching them ascend into the sky before their amber glow faded into the darkness of the night. She let out a long, weary breath as she finished plucking the last of the feathers on the dead bird. She stood.

“Walk with me?” she offered. He nodded and followed her into the trees, away from their campsite.

Once they were a decent distance away, she strung the fowl up and began to gut it. Cole watched with his usual blank expression. She’d have to make sure to dispose of the innards far enough away so that predators wouldn’t come snooping through their camp while they slept.

The scrawny boy continued to wait for her answer, ever patient, and she eventually tired of ignoring him.

“Honestly Cole,” she sighed, “I’m not sure I’m the best one to ask about this.” She unstrung the meaty bird and then cleaned her knife thoroughly before slipping it back into its scabbard. The blade clicked against the sheath, locking soundly into place.

“Why not?”

“Because I myself don’t really know what it is?” She tried not to raise her voice in frustration. But honestly she’d rather not be talking about this. Any of it. It was painful.

She thought back to her family, who had never really loved her. Other than her siblings of course, who were always far away and always busy living their own lives. But not her parents, the very people who were supposed to selflessly love her more than their own conceited indulgences. Even they could not make even a little room in their stone hearts for her to actually mean _something_ to them.

For pity’s sake, her friends growing up were the estate’s horses and its old oak trees. She used to talk to them all the time as a little girl, but would sometimes become overwhelmingly sad when they didn’t talk back to her. It’d been so lonely growing up, even with her brother around to sometimes keep her company, but she had learned to live with it and had steeled herself over the years because of it. The world would move on with or without her. It was the way things were, and there was no point in throwing a pity party for herself.

Now, after having been away for some time, she found she sometimes preferred the peace of solitude to being around people. Too many of them loved to hate, and too few remembered how to love and just be kind. She’d learned that early on.

Despite her claim to prefer being on her own, here she was, in the middle of the woods at night, with a human-like spirit of all things. Not alone, yet she was sorely reminded of how alone she had been and how she had never really been loved. She felt more than a little pathetic.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to hurt,” Cole said unhappily, as if he were reading her thoughts, while they walked back the way they came.

Cara stopped and turned around. She considered his saddened expression for a moment before she smiled tiredly at him. She dropped the gutted bird onto the ground and held her arms out to him. He hesitantly walked into them as she embraced him tightly.

“It’s alright Cole, I’m just telling you the truth. I don’t really know what to tell you, because I myself don’t really know what it’s like.”

She released him, and he looked up at her, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, she picked up the bird carcass and went on to follow the light of their fire through the thicket.

“But, Evelyn says she loves you,” Cole asked, sounding puzzled. Cara grinned as she sat back down on her log, preparing to cook them some dinner at last.

“The high and mighty Inquisitor?” She cocked an eyebrow at him in jest before continuing seriously, “She’s my sister, Cole. It’s a different kind of love.”

“I didn’t know there were different kinds,” he replied in amazement, as if discovering something new for the first time. She nodded in confirmation to his revelation before washing off the fowl and tossing the pieces of meat from it into her makeshift stew pot.

They sat comfortably for a while, listening to the broth boil into something edible. Kaulder had finished off his oats long ago and had settled down on the dirt, eyes closed and sound asleep. Cara watched him through heavy lids, admiring the way his sleek coat shone in the firelight before turning to check on the stew.

“It’s ready.”

She dished some for Cole, who she had rarely seen eat during the short time she’d known him. They ate next to the fire, watching the last of the coals simmer down.

When they finished, she collected their utensils and tucked them away, unable to fight the big yawn that snuck up on her. Cole shuffled towards her before he rested a soft hand on her shoulder.

“Rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Already half-asleep, she nodded and dragged herself to her tent. She wrapped herself in the few layers she had for her bedding and shivered from the chilly night air, wishing the fire hadn’t died out so soon. But her belly was full, and her toes were warm, and sleep soon overcame her, pulling her mind into the Fade to dream.

 

…………………………………

 

The blissful silence of the dawn was broken all of a sudden. Frantic whinnies made Cara bolt upright in her tent. She had luckily fallen asleep in her armor, so she quickly donned on her cloak and gloves and emerged from her shelter in no time at all, her short sword drawn in defense. It was late morning now and the sun was getting high in the sky. She could see a long ways off as she scouted the tree line, watching for any sort of sudden movements.

Kaulder continued to paw at the ground anxiously from behind her, snorting and tossing his head. He’d done this before when they’d had close calls with bandits or highwaymen. She knew something was wrong.

And Cole was nowhere to be found.

She moved fast, packing up camp and loading it into her saddle bags as quickly as she could. She fumbled with the straps more than a few times with shaking hands, and her large horse neighed at her loudly as if to say _‘_ _hurry!’_

No sooner had she finally mounted into her saddle than she heard the sound of hoof beats, lots of them, coming from the north. She squinted ahead of her, barely catching the outline of a large group of riders heading straight for her.

At this point she knew she had two options: wait, or run.

The latter, she realized, was suddenly much more appealing after she had foolishly decided to choose the former out of her own blasted curiosity. They could recognize her, or worse, they could try to rob her. Honestly there were even worse possibilities than that, but she didn’t feel like entertaining those sorts of thoughts at that moment. They sat heavily in her gut, making her sick.

The group of riders, and she immediately noticed they were all men, drew near enough for her to count at least two dozen. She eyed them warily, trying to sooth her mount who continued to shift apprehensively on his feet.

They slowed their horses when they reached her. The largest one, their leader, she guessed, signaled his followers to stop. Which they did but not until after they had moved to form a semi-circle around her, much to her and Kaulder’s discomfort. The lead rider kicked his horse forward before removing his leather hood, revealing a scarred and scraggly face that looked far too delighted to see her.

“Well, well. Lookit, boys! I do believe we’ve found ourselves a stray vixen!” He grinned wolfishly at her, and some of the men chortled in approval.

She tightened her already iron grip on the reins.

Where was Cole when she needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'll see you all again in the next chapter. Until then, lovelies. Leave comments! I love hearing from you!
> 
> Also, I discovered an interesting observation today… Cullen’s middle name is Stanton, right?  
> He loves (and is very good at) chess, right?  
> Did you know that there is a particular style of chess pieces made, and that they’re called Staunton chess pieces? Staunton - Stanton...  
> Coincidence?;)  
> I think Bioware's cleverness goes a lot farther than we realize.


	4. Eyes of The Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one complication ends, another always takes its place. Sometimes the complication goes by the name of 'Lowlander.' Other times, it's something, or someone, much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter this time! I figured you all deserved that much after my having been away for awhile. I will continue to be busy with good old adulthood, but will try to be getting a new chapter in when I can. Hope you enjoy chapter four! :) (Mild language and violence warning.)

“My Thane!”

Cullen watched as one of the scouts in his hunting party approached him in haste. The warrior had forgone the traditional clay paint they wore on their hunts. Instead, he was painted from head to toe with colors that blended him in with the snow-covered wilderness, making him virtually unseen; as an effective scout should be.

Despite his camouflage, Cullen could easily see the troubled expression on the man’s face, and it didn’t bode well with him. His instincts told him he was about to hear something that he wouldn’t like.

“What is it?” he asked as he strode towards him, already ahead of his hunters and their sleds. The scout stopped short when he reached him. He paused momentarily to catch his breath before he pointed across the Lady’s sky, towards the place the sun rose from.

“The other scouts have found trails… left behind by a group of hunters,” he explained between breaths. “Not half a days’ walk away.”

The warriors who caught up to their Thane exchanged looks with one another. Their second hunting party had taken a path in the opposite direction when they had first set out. The chances of it being their own kin, so close to their current position, were highly unlikely.

Cullen irritably cursed under his breath. They were still a hard, three days’ ride from Red Lion Hold, not to mention they were marching back, on foot, with a large haul. But the strange activity had to be investigated. This was their land, and he was their Thane. It would mean risking the safety of his people to simply ignore the situation, and that was something Cullen would never condone.

“Rylen,” he called grimly over his shoulder. Rylen dropped the ropes of his sled and marched over to him.

“I need you to lead the rest of the hunting party back to the Hold. I will take Garel and go with the scouts.”

Garel, the man who had saved Varrene’s life, saluted with a fist over his chest before handing his pack sled over to Avam, one of the more experienced hunters.

Rylen frowned. As the Master of the Hunt, normally he would have been the one to go with the scouts while Cullen lead their people. But Cullen, for reasons he couldn’t explain, knew he should be the one to go.

“As you say,” Rylen nodded, regarding Cullen’s solemn demeanor before he called for the hunters to keep moving. The group slowly continued their march, but Rylen remained by his Thane.

Out of earshot from the other hunters, he turned to him and shook his head in confusion.

“Thane, I do not understand your reasons for this course of action,” he admitted openly, “but I do not doubt your guidance. Just know that I would feel much more at ease if you sent me in your stead.”

Cullen nodded, letting the corner of his mouth turn up ever so slightly at his friend.

“Aye, I know.”

“Then may the path rise up to meet you,” Rylen furrowed his brow.

“May the wind be at your back, Rylen,” he finished the words of farewell, turning away.

He trusted Rylen with his own life. He knew he’d lead the hunters home safely. So he and Garel departed with the scout as soon as they’d gone from his sight.

 

…………………………………

 

Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest idea to waste one of her favorite daggers, Cara thought bitterly to herself. But it was too late to go back and fetch it.

She kicked into Kaulder again, desperately trying to urge him to go faster. He was breathing hard beneath her, and she knew she was pushing him past his limit, but they had to keep moving. She risked a glance behind her. Bare trees and patches of dirty snow were all she saw as they flew. She had lost them, it seemed, but she wasn’t going to risk slowing down until they had reached higher ground.

The sun was still high, but the sky was now overcast in a dull gray sheet. It was getting colder the further they went. Cara attempted to wrap her cloak about herself more snugly, but Kaulder lost his footing in the deepening snow and staggered, nearly throwing her off. She reached out and gripped the pommel tightly before it nearly knocked the wind out of her gut. She didn’t dare to let go of it again while he ran.

“Just a little further,” she pleaded tiredly into the black, velvet ear that perked up at her voice.

 

 

 

The scruffy mange of a man who’d smiled hungrily at her had crossed his arms over his leather chest guard. His gaze had roved over her, lazily looking her up and down in unmistakable appreciation. Her stomach had shriveled, and with it her worst imaginable fears had immediately come to mind. This man, she’d realized with disgust, was clearly not a stranger to these situations. The unpleasantly casual way he’d drunk in the sight of her was proof enough of that.

At that moment, Cara hadn’t been able to help wondering just how many misfortunate victims had met their terrible ends at his filthy hands. She’d nearly shuddered at the thought.

His eyes had eventually met hers, and the greedy hunger she’d found in them was darker than a moonless night. She had wished she’d thought to put her hood up to hide the poorly-concealed, appalled expression on her face, but it had been too late. He’d flashed a rather ravenous grin at her obvious discomfort. The man’s enjoyment of her unease had begun to ignite a silent rage within her.

“Whad’ya think, boys? Take ‘er, or leave ‘er?” he’d asked. His tone had been bored, as if he was jadedly wondering what he should wear that day, but his black eyes were plotting. Exactly what he’d been planning, she hadn’t been able to find out. All she’d been able to do was scowl at him while he had posed lax in his saddle, stroking his beard appreciatively.

A startling chorus of approval had erupted from the pack of marauders, with different voices of opinion reaching her over the noise.

“No use in letting ‘er waste! Take all o’er!”

“Leave ‘er to rot! Take the rest!”

“Whichever, we’ve a prize today!”

She’d gritted her teeth and stared hatefully at the man who had simply sat back like he had all the time in the world, appearing to be all the while highly amused at seeing her squirm.

“Animals,” she’d hissed venomously. At that, he’d simply thrown his head back and laughed.

“That’s the idea, miss.” He’d winked. She’d made a disgusted noise. If the man had thought that she was going to play the helpless damsel and go with him easily, the brute would have another thing coming.

The second he’d dismounted from his horse and moved toward her she’d reached for her dagger and threw it in one rapid, fluid motion. The mens’ cheers had died down into abrupt silence when their leader’s pained and enraged bellowing had filled the air. She’d sat there, vigilant and unmoving, as he’d fallen to his knees.

Her heart had sunk. She’d been a rogue long enough to recognize that she had missed her target, his heart, by only mere inches, and as a result she’d ended up mostly hitting him in the arm. The amount of blood that had come out of him had nonetheless been impressive. It was too bad he hadn’t been keen in agreeing with her on that.

He’d grabbed at the blade that was sunk deep into his flesh and had yanked it out, throwing it at the ground furiously before promptly turning on her. She’d swallowed, fully aware of the danger she’d only further put herself in. His eyes had burned into hers menacingly.

“You’ll pay for that, you worthless bitch,” he’d threatened. Then, whistling to his men, he’d ordered, “Leave ‘er to rot, boys.”

Before any of them had had their chance to go after her, half of the men had gasped and grunted before they’d suddenly fallen right out of their saddles, lying motionless in the dirt. Cara had cried out in surprise when she saw their necks and backs had been littered with arrows. They’d been killed instantly. Their leader had swung back at the unexpected interference, gripping his wounded shoulder.

That was when they had spotted them. Warriors, at least a dozen of them, had emerged from the trees dressed in furs, leathers, and fearsome-looking, wolf-pelt hides. Every inch of their exposed skin had been coated in some sort of paint. The odd shades and patterns of it had made them appear to fade into the surrounding trees, and she’d had to squint her eyes to not lose sight of them.

Many of them had armed themselves with intimidatingly large bows while others had held their spears high, but all had ultimately aimed right for them. Cara had never seen such fearsome-looking people before in all her life. She couldn’t believe it; she had not just one, but _two_ groups of people trying to kill her. What had she done to piss off the Maker so badly? She sure could have used Cole’s disappearing act right about then.

The remaining group of men who had first approached her had roared angrily before they’d charged head-on at the painted archers. They hadn’t stood a chance. One by one she had watched the fools get picked off, right off of their mounts. Thick arrow shafts had protruded from their chests where they’d fallen, and blood had started to pool around their corpses. The remaining fighters had taken to the ground and had begun clashing their blades with the foes. The harsh sounds of shouting and metal striking on metal had flooded the air.

One of the war-painted archers’ arrows had suddenly flown towards her and struck the mercenary leader. He’d fallen limply onto his back, in the mud, with a silent _thump_. She hadn’t been able to stop staring, almost in disbelief, at the bloodied shaft that protruded from the dead man’s head, precisely where his right eye had been moments before. She’d blanched, just barely fighting off the bile that had threatened to make its way up her throat.

Being more of an assassin than a soldier, Cara had never really seen a battle of any kind before. Her head had felt dizzy, and she’d become overwhelmed with the sight of so much gruesome bloodshed.

That was when she’d urgently kicked Kaulder into a hard run. Her noble steed hadn’t needed another hint. They’d taken off flying, leaving her attackers and the tribal warriors to fight amongst themselves, and she hadn’t dared to look back.

 

 

 

Her heart was finally calming down. She could feel the adrenaline leaving her system, but Kaulder’s legs were trembling. She took in his poor state with a look of sympathy from up in her saddle before she swung down into the ankle-deep snow below. Despite her thick boots, she could feel the cold begin to creep easily into her toes.

She crouched near him and gently lifted one of his legs. His shoes were, thankfully, still in place. When she stood to fetch some water from her bag, he was still breathing hard through his nose and mouth. His chest was heaving, and he hung his head low to the ground. She could see his eyes flutter in exhaustion.

“I’m sorry I pushed you so hard,” she apologized tenderly. He snorted at her while she rummaged through her saddle bags. Her fingers felt along familiar leather. She found what she wanted.

The large, water-tight pouch she kept his water in was solid as a rock. For a moment, she feared it had frozen through during their flight from the forest. But once she popped the top off and held it to him, she could hear some liquid slosh around as he happily drank. With a sigh of relief, she rubbed his neck and scratched his ears fondly. He hummed under her doting touches and continued to swallow generous amounts of water.

Not wanting to water-log her poor horse, she pulled the pouch away and sealed it. He whinnied in protest, so she kissed his nose before placing the pouch back in its bag.

“Too much of that and you’ll be refusing to move for the next few hours. We can’t afford that right now,” she explained to him, buckling a strap closed. He tossed his head at her and snorted softly, to which she stopped and looked at him curiously. Part of her wanted to believe he understood everything that she said to him. His intelligent copper eyes were always trained on her when she spoke, but she knew better than to consider it as a real possibility. Either way, he seemed to enjoy it when she talked to him, and she was happy to oblige.

Cara didn’t bother to mount up again. Kaulder was too tired to carry her _and_ her things, and he’d worked plenty hard to put sufficient distance between them and their assailants. She felt safe enough to lead him by foot through the deepening snowdrift. Once she slid the reins over his head and into her hand, she stroked his nose softly and began to march.

After following along the different treelines for a good while, and avoiding areas where the snow looked too deep to make safe passage, they made a break through their steep climb. The seemingly endless incline leveled out before her, leaving her gasping at the breathtaking view beyond the parted firs.

The sun was pure gold, its piercing rays shone like beacons through cracks in the overcast sky, just near the horizon. The valley below her was a sparkling blanket of white, with a few patches of trees and bare earth scattered about. Under it all were the small pieces of the life she imagined were incredibly beautiful during the warmer seasons. Mountain peaks off in the distance looked nearly blue the further away they were. She’d seen paintings of the snowy summits before, but now that she had experienced it all for herself, they paled in comparison to the real thing. The Frostbacks were an unparalleled beauty.

In that moment, Cara was almost positive they were on top of the entire world.

Kaulder suddenly nipped at the end of her braid, bringing her out of her awestricken state, and she swatted him away playfully.

“What? I can’t enjoy a view for even a moment?” she rolled her eyes and grinned at him, stroking his face lovingly. “Attention-hog.”

He snorted once, and with a graceful arc of his head he nodded before tiredly resting his nose on her arm. She poked it teasingly, making him look at her with an almost coltish expression in his eyes.

A chilly breeze picked up and began to blow loose strands of her hair around. She threw her hood up quickly to keep it from whipping her face before she tugged on the lead rope.

“Come on, we best push along.”

 

 

 

Night fell quickly, and with it the temperature.

Under the soft glow of an almost full moon, Cara had managed to find a small outcrop of rock that hung over a dry patch of ground. After walking for some long, slow hours through calf-deep snow, the discovery nearly made her sob in relief.

She lead Kaulder to it, dropping his reins before promptly falling on her rear in the dirt. She undid her boots and groaned, rubbing her sore calves most tenderly. They would smart even worse the coming day, she had no doubt.

Kaulder walked over to the rocky ground near the overhang and began nibbling on some stray grasses poking through the dirt. She watched him for a moment before a breeze sent an icy shiver down her back. Wrapping her mantle around herself like a blanket, she curled into a ball and tried to quiet her chattering teeth. The dark material of her cloak was a thick velvet, with heavy wool for the inside lining, but it was nothing compared to the furs those tribesman had been wearing back in the woods.

For the smallest second, she wondered at the fate of the rest of the men who had nearly tried to… ‘take her,’ as they’d so elegantly put it. Another second later she found herself truly not caring, so long as she and Kaulder were miles away from them and their foul eyes.

‘ _Hopefully they_ _are_ _all_ _very_ dead _eyes, now,’_ she added bitingly as an afterthought.

She didn’t bother to unpack her things. If she was indeed in the Frostback Mountains, then the noise of her making camp could alert all sorts of unwanted guests to her location. She’d studied enough geography and ethology to prefer the risk of having a stiff neck and back the next day rather than to be found by some hungry predator.

Of course, there was the matter of a fire to consider.

She was surrounded by snow and hidden away nicely in an outcrop of stone. But the chances of someone, or something, seeing the light of her fire from miles off was a very likely prospect. Then again, with no fire and no blankets, other than the one she had for her horse, she could freeze as likely as be spotted in the night. The heat was something she couldn’t relinquish.

The fire won.

It had been a bit of a struggle, an hour-long one to be precise, but she’d done it. She huddled near the small burning pile of branches she had managed to put together and sighed contently, rubbing her hands collectively to bring some feeling back into them. She glanced down and spotted a small stick near her boot. Picking it up, she began poking it at the dirt absently, thinking of Cole.

Where in Thedas had he gone? Where was he now? What was he doing? She’d remembered him telling her he would stay and keep watch during the previous night. If he indeed had, he obviously hadn’t stuck around long enough to wake her earlier that awful morning.

She frowned into the flickering flames. She knew it wasn’t his fault that she had accidentally slept in and ended up in such a mess, but some warning of his departure before he’d suddenly left would have been appreciated. Wherever he was, she thought, she hoped he was safe.

The peaceful silence was suddenly interrupted by a low, piercing howl. It sounded like it was a safe distance away, but Kaulder immediately tensed and raised his head, ears pointed in the direction of the sound. She quickly lifted her head, too, squinting through the firelight in an attempt to see beyond her small circle of dirt. There was a brief pause before a second howl echoed across the mountain pass, much closer than the first one had been. Cara stood, dropping the stick from her hands. She heard Kaulder shifting warily on his feet again, and she let out a long, worn-out, and very frustrated sigh.

They were exhausted, it was late into the night, and they had only been able to rest for a little over an hour since they’d stopped, and her bones ached. Overall, her energy was wholly spent. She was not used to having to be constantly on her guard like this.

Slowly backing up towards Kaulder, she drew her short sword. The refined metal hissed against its sheath, reflecting becomingly in the moonlight. She held her breath, heart hammering loudly in her ears as her eyes continued to scout the trees guardedly.

They were a long way from home.

At that thought, it struck her that being on the road had actually felt more like home to her than all the years of living at the Trevelyan estate ever had. Remembering the large manor she’d left behind months ago made her sorely long to see her brother again. But he wasn’t here, and she was alone, and very possibly about to face off with some unpleasant adversaries for the third time that day.

She prayed it was something small, like coyotes, and not the wolves their howls made them sound to be.

Her back was against a large tree, which Kaulder stood not ten feet from. If she could just get to him and quickly jump into the saddle then maybe they could leave before-

Something suddenly flew within mere inches of her head, whizzing past her sharply before landing soundly in the red tree bark beside her. She cried out at the unexpected attack, flinching away from the object. But when she looked at it, she instantly recognized the weapon, and her heart dropped to her stomach.

Her favorite dagger, freshly blood-stained blade and all, had sunk firmly into the trunk of the pine she was backed into. It continued to wobble from the force of its impact, creating an eerie metallic sound each time it did.

Stunned, she stared helplessly at it until movement from the firelight caught her eye. Men and women, covered with wolf-pelts and other furs, began to appear one by one in the dim glow of the flames. The light danced peculiarly across their exposed, painted skin. She moved her hand position to one of defense, sword at the ready, before her mouth fell open in astonishment. It was the same indigenous group that had been in the forest earlier that day. They’d gone after her, after all.

One of the men, the one who had thrown the dagger, she realized, as he withdrew his arm to his side from the action, began speaking to her.

She regarded him for a moment after he finished, not understanding a word he’d just said. He took a tentative step forward, repeating himself in what sounded like the same, foreign language, and gestured with his hands. Again, Cara could only stare at him in confusion, sword still held threateningly in front of her.

“I… don’t understand,” she finally said, noting the way her voice wavered as she did.

“Ah,” the man lowered his hands in defeat, looking at her with a hardened expression. He shook his head, and Cara was surprised to see that the canine skull headdress he wore moved with him so easily. He looked at her again and took another step forward.

“The… knife,” he said in a strange, thick accent that was unfamiliar to her. He pointed to the spot where her dagger sat, soundly wedged inside of the tree. “Yours?”

She watched him warily, wondering what he was getting at.

“Ahm, yes, it is,” she said oddly, lowering her blade for only a moment before hastily turning to retrieve her dagger. He had a good arm, that was for sure. It took her longer than she would have liked to wrench it free from the trunk. As soon as she did, she slid it back into its place, in the belt on her leg, and turned back around, posed in her defensive stance once more.

“Good aim,” he praised her huskily. She tilted her head, slightly puzzled.

Oh. He must’ve seen her throw it at her would-be attacker back in the forest. Just how long had they been hiding in those trees when the bandits had come upon her? Despite the compliment, she kept quiet. She was still unsure if she could consider these people as friendly or not.

One of the painted onlookers approached the man attempting to communicate with her, and spoke to him urgently. He lowered his voice when he noticed she was watching their interaction closely.

Heat flooded her cheeks when she caught a few racy Fereldan words among his foreign speech. He had to have been doing it on purpose, throwing in the occasional indecent language, and so she glared at him. Her reaction didn’t go unnoticed, and seemed to amuse some of the men and women around her, based on their hearty chuckles.

One of the more appropriate words the man said stood out to her from the rest: ‘Lowlander.’ She could have sworn she’d heard that somewhere before...

During her private studies on the different cultures that inhabited Fereldan, she remembered she’d asked her instructor at the time about the pretty mountain people he’d shown her illustrations of. That was when he had decided it would be wise to spend their lesson time teaching the little Trevelyan baroness about the ancient Avvar people.

They were a native human tribe that had lived in Thedas for far longer than any one group of people ever had. They were mystifying, proud, and it was said that their love for blood-lust was unmatched. Not much else was known about them other than the stories people would bring back with them from their expeditions in the mountains.

She remembered many a time catching the maidservants giggling and gossiping about how they longed for an attractive, muscular, Avvar barbarian to come down from the mountaintops and steal them away as their brides. She had been a young teenager at the time that she’d been introduced, more explicitly, to the realities of the delicate nature between a married man and woman, and the servants’ fantasies always left her feeling uncomfortably flushed. She'd readily take her leave, preferably escaping in the opposite direction of their dirty whispering, and avoid the servants for the remainder of the day.

Her instructor had taught her that just as the people of Thedas had labeled the Avvar as barbarians, the so-called savages had given a nickname to her people as well.

“Lowlanders,” she whispered to herself. It finally dawned on her as she glanced around the fire’s light again. The cracked, clay war paint, their tattooed markings, their manner of dress – or the lack thereof – all pointed to the same conclusion.

“You’re Avvar,” she said loudly enough for the man to hear. The warrior beside him stopped whatever he was saying and looked at her curiously, but the one with the wolf skull on his head confirmed her observation.

“Aye.”

“What do you want with me?” she asked fiercely, attempting to sound braver than she felt.

He said nothing, but slowly made his way to her. He was nearly a yard away when he motioned something to his men. Two of the warriors grabbed Kaulder’s reins and began leading him away. His startled whinnies and kicks made her heart tighten painfully in her chest.

“No!” she cried out, swinging her sword at the man in panicked fury. She would **not** let them take Kaulder away from her.

The Avvar man hadn’t expected her sudden attack, and she managed to strike him across the chest. The blade hadn’t been close enough to really break through his skin, but it did leave an angry-looking lesion from his shoulder down to his stomach. He roared ferociously at her before he grabbed her wrists and squeezed them, hard. She cried out in agony at his crushing power and instantly let go of her sword.

The last things she saw were his vicious, blood-shot eyes and his fists coming down on her, soundly striking her across the back of her head. Everything went black.

 

…………………………………

 

Of all the things Cullen had been expecting to find wandering his lands, she certainly had not been one of them.

The scout that had first informed him of the suspicious trails, Ficke, had led him and Garel on for hours over the pass, almost to the undergrowth of the lowland trees, when he finally stopped. There in the muddy snow, just like the other lookouts had found, was a thin trail of man-made tracks. They were fresher than Cullen had hoped for them to be.

“We found the first ones here,” Ficke explained. “The others went back, towards the trees, then wound back up and around, along the cliff sides.”

The Thane stood there, observing the tracks with Garel who wore an easy frown on his face. The hunter looked about as happy as Cullen felt.

“Any clues as to who they are?” he asked half-heartedly. Ficke had been with them the entire time. He knew it was unlikely the man knew anything more than what he had already shared with them.

Unsurprisingly, the scout shook his head.

“No, Thane. But I know where the others have gone.”

Garel sighed quietly. Cullen nodded at the man, knowing what they had to do.

“Lead the way.”

And so they followed quickly, looking for any other signs; marks left on the trees, scraps of what the trespassers were wearing that might have gotten caught on the straying bushes, and any new traces in the snow along the way.

In several more hours they finally caught up to the other scouts. There were two of them, crouching near the top of a snow drift. One of them looked highly relieved when she saw them approach.

“Ficke Ar Ashra! Took you long enough,” the woman whispered, smiling at the scout before turning and bowing her head respectfully towards Cullen.

“Thane Lion Fang.”

“Lursi,” he greeted crisply.

“The tracks,” she began to explain as the three of them joined her and her companion near the edge of the drift, “the ones we’ve been pursuing, they were following someone else. We found her trail nearby, moving along the cliff’s edge, along with the marks of her beast.”

Cullen raised a single brow. “Her?”

“The lowlander,” the young man chimed in from beside Lursi. “She’s been wandering the side of the mountain for some time now.”

“Have you seen her?” he asked, surprise coloring his voice. Lowlanders hadn’t come to Red Lion territory for nearly three summers, now.

Lursi shook her head. “I’ve not, but Edger has.”

The young man looked to her almost shyly before he addressed his Thane. “She’s alone, and wearing a strange, shiny coat.”

“Whoever she is she has caught the attention of some unwelcome tresspassers,” Cullen said simply. “Where is the lass now?”

“A short ways up the hillside, towards the rocks,” Edger pointed to where he was speaking of.

“If we hurry, we could catch up to the lot of them,” Lursi advised.

“Cullen,” Garel broke his silence, face as somber as it was when they had left the other hunters. Cullen looked at him expectantly.

“Our hunters are a good days’ march away, now. If these outsiders are too great in number, we must proceed carefully,” he said sternly. “There are only five of us here.”

“Agreed,” he replied. He had just one more question before they decided to head out.

“Edger?” The scout turned to him. “You saw the lowlander girl last. Did you see who was following her?”

He looked down and shook his head. “No my Thane, but I did find this.” He held out what appeared to be a small strip of a frayed-looking material. Cullen took it and studied it. There were remains of fur on the far end of the leather piece. Upon closer inspection he found the colors of the pelt scrap were like that of a Wolf, which could only belong to one Hold.

“Greywulf,” Cullen growled. Edger and Garel exchanged surprised looks, but Lursi merely narrowed her eyes in contempt.

“I noticed the fur, too. Just didn’t realize whose _mange_ it was,” she hissed icily.

Greywulf Hold and Red Lion Hold had conflicted and fought many times since his father’s time as Thane had been in its prime. They weren’t so close to their lands that they could be casually trekking across their borders by accident, however. Cullen had no choice but to assume the hunters knew very well that they were treading through territory they ought not to be in.

He balled the piece of leather in his hand into a clenched fist before putting it in his pouch.

“Edger, show us the way.”

 

 

 

The Lady’s colors were changing with the sun as it started to sink low in her sky.

The four of them were pushing themselves hard, moving as quickly as they could through the snow banks. Edger was the smallest and therefore the lightest on his feet. They’d sent him ahead as a sentry while Lursi and Ficke had remained with him and Garel.

Eventually they rendezvoused with the missing scout. He was perched low in some brush, staring ahead at a large, overhanging rock on the stony hillside directly across from them.

“Over here, Thane,” Edger called.

Cullen was already making his way towards him when he spotted her.

The lowlander, covered by some sort of scintillate cloak, was heading straight for the rocks. Despite the approaching cover of dusk, he could easily see the powerful beast that walked beside her. He openly stared at the vast size of it.

The horse appeared to be wearing a… what did the lowlanders call it? A saddle? With how small she was in comparison to the creature, he oddly hoped she had enough wits in her lowlander head not to ride it. Unless the lass was more than a little experienced, she could easily be thrown off.

“There she is!” he heard his scout, Lursi, whisper in shock from in front of him. His kinsmen had already taken their places behind the brushwood. Cullen carefully made his way to them, taking a seat slightly ahead of their location to better see the lowlander.

“That’s quite the animal she has there,” he heard Garel comment to himself from where he hid. The warrior sounded nearly in awe. “Wonder how she got her hands on him.”

The Thane nearly rolled his eyes. That man had been so fixated on lowlander horses since he was small. He couldn’t really blame him, though. Seeing the stallion made Cullen want to take it for himself as a prize.

“Any sign of them?” he called out to no one in particular. When no reply came, he let out a deep sigh. The situation was a grim one, then. So instead of sitting and waiting in the shrubs all night, he decided he'd be of more use if he moved in closer. He stood to make his leave.

The slope down didn't seem too difficult at first, but he didn’t get very far before his fellow hunter called out to him.

“Thane, where are you going?”

He answered without slowing his departure. “If the gods are with me tonight, I’m hoping to hunt down some mongrel wolves.”

As he continued his descent towards the rocks, he decidedly ignored the loud, nosy whisper of one bold man from his party above him.

“Perhaps he’s determined to steal the lass for himself?”

Cullen stiffened and bared his teeth into the darkness. Steal a lowlander? For a bride? If that’s what they thought he was up to, then they were going to be very disappointed. He could care less about the woman. Tonight was about rectifying the unauthorized trespass on his homeland, and that was all.

Cullen was not an excessively violent person. In fact, he had never once condoned any unprovoked aggressiveness within his own hold. But he had to protect his people and, Lady forbid, if he had to, he could always hurt the woman. If it meant it would send the wolves a clear message on his feelings towards unwelcome outsiders and keep them from coming back, he would consider it as an option.

Or so he had thought, that is until he was close enough to her makeshift camp. He’d made his way around the trees and back, tucking himself away along the stony walls that lined the overhang. From there, he was close enough to keep her in his sights without alerting her to his presence.

Cullen was unable to help himself from watching her every move, though he would never admit that he was even slightly mesmerized. Her movements at first had been rather elegant and effortless. However, as time passed, it seemed the cold had caught up with her. She shakily fumbled with some foraged twigs and attempted to place them into a neat pile. At the rate she was going at, she would more likely freeze to death than get a fire going. He could easily see her smaller form trembling from where he was hiding, despite all the layers she appeared to have wrapped herself in. He supposed it didn’t help that tonight was a bit colder than it had been during the past few days. Even still, the poor thing looked half-frozen already.

He was somewhat alarmed when he found himself silently encouraging her feeble attempts to light the branches she’d gathered. She was having a hard time stilling herself long enough to get a spark. Her shaking kept overpowering her, causing her hands to blunder the process of rubbing sticks. She had to start all over again.

‘ _Come on, lass.’_

When flames finally did flicker and then roar to life, he couldn’t help smirking proudly at her. The lowlander girl had done it.

Her backside was towards him for most of the time he watched her. She was a slender thing, and not very tall. Her dark hair was tied back, and even then it was long, sitting lightly against the mid-waist of her pleasantly curved figure, which he most certainly had _not_ noticed moments ago in the distracting firelight.

Cullen tiredly ran a calloused hand along his face. He needed to focus on finding the wolves, but her presence was making his concentration slip. It slipped even further when she turned her eyes towards the rocks he was currently perched behind. He inhaled sharply, breath caught in his chest.

By the Mountain Father! For one concise moment, he had thought he was looking at the Lady of the Skies. Her eyes were as silver as the stars. Her ebony hair tossed about wildly in the gentle breeze while the heavens seemed to float eternally in her wandering gaze. Her skin glowed under the light of the moon, making her appear almost ethereal.

In another, clearer moment when she turned away, Cullen realized he was being inanely ridiculous.

He forced himself to look to the trees beyond where she stood, crossing himself for foolishly allowing her to distract him so. If even _he_ struggled to keep his gaze away from the lowlander, he could guess there were other pairs of eyes watching her right now, too.

Then the howling began.

He recognized it immediately. It was a hunting method, one the Greywulf hunters often used to signal each other. True to their name, they were predators of the night. He could only imagine the fear the lass must have felt from their wolf-like calls as he watched her bolt upright from beside the fire. Then she drew something from her waist.

A blade. He noticed that she carried it well, but it was smaller, not quite a sword like the one he himself preferred to use. Did she plan to fight the hunters with that thing alone? He shook his head sadly. Perhaps this lowlander’s head wasn’t so sharp after all.

A knife suddenly flew at the girl from the trees, and for a minute he thought it had struck her. He relaxed a little when she continued to move about, seemingly unharmed.

At long last, they showed themselves. Cullen could see them quite easily from his position in the shadows, and he scowled. Nothing darkened his mood faster than a pack of unwanted Grewfuls.

One of the nefarious warriors stepped forward and began speaking to the lowlander. He instantly identified the unique canine head dress that the man wore, along with the gold markings on his left arm.

Cullen reached for the hilt of his longsword, jaw clenched tight. He slowly inched the blade from the scabbard hanging on his hip.

Samson Ar Raleigh O Greywulf Hold, Master of the Hunt of Greywulf Hold, had dared to cross into his lands.

Cullen was too far from his own Hold far to call for aid. The man was here now, with a handful or so of his hunters, and he was not about to let him get away with his intrusion. The sorry excuse of an Avvar would be rightfully cut down, he pledged to himself, with our without a second to support him.

As soon as he resolved to approach the pack of hunters on his own, the girl suddenly screamed and attacked Samson. Cullen found himself frozen where he stood, blade in hand, and merely watched as her weapon made contact with the Huntmaster’s torso. The blow hadn’t been sound, but it had done some damage. He mentally applauded her courage.

Seeing the reaction of maddened fury in Samson’s demeanor, he knew he couldn’t let this go on any longer than it had. If he got the chance, that man would hurt her in unspeakable ways before he killed her. Cullen pushed back the dark thoughts that briefly surfaced to his memory and strode purposefully out of the shadows.

When he finally reached her, it was too late. Samson had knocked her unconscious. She remained a broken heap at his feet, and the air was suddenly filled with awful, piercing cries from the black beast she had traveled with. If Cullen had been any closer to the animal, he might have feared losing his hearing for good.

Sword drawn and held threateningly in his hand, the Thane pulled on his Lion skin and made his way to the fire. He watched the Greywulf’s Master of the Hunt throw the limp body of the lass over his shoulder and call for his men to return. The hunters turned and began to obediently retreat back into the darkness of the trees when he called out to him.

“Samson,” he spat.

The Greywulf Hunter froze. Eyes began to turn back to the fire, where they fell on Cullen’s menacing form. He briefly noticed how some of them appeared to be a little fearful when they saw him, but he only had eyes for the detestable man seizing the lowlander woman.

Samson slowly took his time to face him, sneering icily in the shifting light of the fire.

“Thane Cullen Lion Fang,” he returned flatly. He seemed to be eyeing him up and down calculatively. “A bit over dressed, aren’t we?”

Cullen looked every bit the dangerous, battle-hardened warrior he was. His entire head was concealed behind the large, armor-plated skull of the lion he had slain that had earned him his legend mark. His hard amber eyes blazed behind the open, pointed rows of sharp teeth. The thick red mane of his mantle lined his back and shoulders, making his tall form appear to be even larger to his enemies. His razor-edged, steel longsword gleamed in the intimidating twist of fire and moon light.

If the Greywulf hunters were smart, they ought to be every bit as afraid of him as they seemed to be.

“You’ve crossed the line,” Cullen snarled, striding powerfully towards the motionless Huntmaster. He could have sworn he saw the tiniest bit of hesitation in the man’s sickly eyes at his approach. Good, the man needed to know exactly what he was dealing with.

“Now now, my respected Thane, I wouldn’t be so eager to attack me if I were in your place,” Samson said, dropping the girl to his arms where he abruptly held his blade against her throat. Cullen halted, narrowing his eyes.

“Coward.”

“Or intelligent. I know when I am pinned, Cullen,” he countered. The Huntmaster was calmer than Cullen would have liked.

He didn’t understand how he had Samson feeling cornered. He had approached him on his own accord, _alone_ , without a second to back him up. Surely the man could see that. Cullen was even putting himself at great risk in his choosing to do so, which was unlike him. But for Samson? He’d make an exception to his usually precautionary tactics.

But it didn’t matter anymore. What did matter was he now had another choice to make. He eyed the Huntmaster’s weapon held threateningly at the lass’ neck, thinking.

He could let the lowlander’s death be his advantage in attacking Samson; potentially ending him once and for all. He hated to admit that he was tempted even a little by that possibility. Or he could save the lass by exchanging her life for the Greywulf’s peaceful departure, not to return to his lands again unless granted by his personal approval.

He strongly disliked either of his options.

But Samson’s knife was beginning to dig fatally into the girl’s flesh. Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to choose. Quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading chapter four!! Hey all... feel free to write me comments! Let me know what you think of the story. I love to hear from my readers. I'll see you guys in the next chapter. Until then, stay amazing, lovelies!


	5. Captive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the last couple of chapters have been a bit more serious than I originally aimed for, but I promise the story isn’t meant to be that way in its entirety. There will be friendship and fluff and all that good stuff in the chapters to come. Also, sorry it has been so long. I’ve had a difficult time staying motivated to write this story, and the style might have changed a little. But please enjoy.

Cullen watched the one man he detested the most in the world hold his blade against the lowlander’s throat and frowned. An innocent didn’t deserve such a fate. Samson, on the other hand, deserved every ounce of horrendous torment he had ever inflicted upon those he’d claimed were his enemies. The mere children he’d slain in the past couldn’t have even lived long enough for him to logically see them as a threat. But Samson wasn’t logical. He was mad. Unhinged.

The man was a monster.

Would he attack Samson, then? Or spare the lowlander? The choice was laid bare before him for the gods to judge. He tensed as the Huntmaster’s weapon began to draw blood from her flesh. Khor’s teeth, he needed to act fast.

Cullen inhaled deeply. He knew his time was up. He’d made his decision.

“Leave the Lowlander.” His voice was hard.

Samson openly stared at him in suspicious contemplation. “And why should I?”

“If you don’t, your life ends here,” the Thane said simply.

“Whose to say you weren’t planning to kill me anyways?” He tilted his head to the side, his face twisted in near amusement. “If I let her go, what’s to stop you from coming after us?”

“My word.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Every Avvar knew the guaranteed word of a Thane had lawful merit. It was akin to an oath. He could practically see the wheels turning in Samson’s head. He must have realized he didn’t have any other way for him _and_ his hunters to escape in one piece, unless he decided to accept the Thane’s challenge to fight him to the death instead. But he was too cowardly for that, this Cullen knew.

His own hunters wouldn’t be happy about his letting the Greywulfs go without so much as a retaliation, but his hands were tied. He wasn’t going to let them take the life of a helpless woman. Not on his lands.

“Withdraw your blade and you and your hunters may go in peace, this I swear,” Cullen promised, noticing how the Master of the Hunt had begun to slowly retract his weapon. The Greywulf hunters seemed all too eager to agree with the mercy he was giving them and watched anxiously as their leader remained where he stood, his eyes locked on the Thane.

Finally, after a tense and drawn-out pause, the man sheathed his dagger and let the girl fall to the ground in an insensate heap. She was still knocked out cold, and Cullen could see fresh blood slowly trailing down her neck from where Samson had pressed the sharp metal edge of his weapon too roughly against her. His own blade, however, remained firmly in his hands, not lowering an inch despite the resigned actions of his foeman.

“We will accept your terms, oh great Thane,” Samson smirked mockingly, holding his hands up placatingly.

“Then go.” Cullen nodded in the direction they had come. The offending men allowed a short round of exchanged looks with one another before they began to hurriedly retreat back towards their own lands.

“And leave the beast,” Garel’s voice suddenly sounded from beside him. Cullen turned and was inwardly relieved to find he was no longer alone. His kin had joined him, their own weapons drawn in threatening display.

The Greywulfs who had grabbed the horse earlier hesitated before they released their hold on him. Regret colored their faces as it rode off towards the unconscious lowlander. Cullen was more than satisfied to see that the crooks were going to be leaving empty-handed. They should not have been anywhere near Lion territory in the first place.

He watched as the clay-painted men departed. After they had already begun their trek back through the timber, Samson only covered a short distance before he stopped and looked back. He glowered at Cullen darkly.

“Your mercy will be your downfall, Cullen Lion Fang. I swear it to Hakkon.”

“Leave. _N_ _ow_.” Cullen flicked his sword, reminding his enemy that he had not yet withdrawn the danger he posed. The sallow eyes glaring at him narrowed before the man scoffed. He turned his back towards them and finally disappeared from view.

“Good riddance, mutts,” he heard Lursi say curtly from somewhere behind him.

“I hope that bastard perishes in the Void,” Garel added, plainly referring to the Greywulf Master of the Hunt. Cullen couldn’t agree more as he sheathed his sword back in its place.

Ficke made his way over to where the hurt lowlander lay near the dying fire. He tried his best to be cautious in his approach towards her and her protective mount, not wanting to upset the animal and risk further injury. Despite his careful behavior, the distressed horse huffed and pawed at him, blocking the way to his rider. He knew the warning should not be taken lightly, but the girl needed to be helped. He glanced over his shoulder at the older hunter.

“Garel, could you do something about this?”

The bearded warrior nodded. He dropped his spear before making his way to him. The others followed, not far behind.

While Garel whispered comfortingly to the steed to try and calm him, Cullen looked on with interest. It wasn’t every day his fellow hunter had the opportunity to interact with a lowland horse. He wondered if the man’s uncanny ability with their own hold’s steeds would work on this one as well.

Garel’s kind nature helped him bond easily with most creatures, and Cullen had full confidence that he could console the large animal. Still, he couldn’t deny his admiration in how fiercely it continued to guard his lady, even with the hunter’s soft coos and reassurances. The fact that she had earned such loyalty from the beast had certainly piqued his curiosity about her.

His mouth set in a thin line. Her presence in this part of the Frostbacks had brought with it many questions, and none of them all that pleasant, but unless they were able to reach her soon they would forever remain unanswered. He’d seen the blood running down her throat after Samson had dropped her, and he was anxious for Garel to hurry and distract the steed so he could get to her.

Not soon enough for his liking did the hunter finally get a hold of the reins. The horse willingly followed his gentle guide but continued to watch the girl closely. If he didn’t know any better, Cullen would have thought the animal was lovestruck. Under less dire circumstances, such a thought would have made him smile in amusement.

The Thane was already moving towards the fire. Once he was kneeling at her side he removed his lion helm and deposited it on ground. He took her arm in his hands, briefly noting how cold she was, before he carefully rolled her onto her back. Cullen nearly grimaced. Ficke quickly joined him at his side, reaching down to inspect the wound on her neck.

“How bad is it?” He asked softly.

“If it had been any deeper, she would have been in a lot of trouble,” Ficke shook his head, his expression grave. “It’s a good thing you stopped Samson when you did.”

Cullen nodded, not feeling quite as confident as Ficke sounded. He should have moved in sooner when he had the chance. Maybe then they wouldn’t be dealing with an unconscious and injured lowlander.

She was a stranger here, an outsider, but in the end it didn’t matter if she was Avvar or not. Her safety had been violated in _his_ lands, by _his_ enemies, and thus he felt somewhat responsible for what happened. The least he could do now was see to it that she was taken care of until she could return home.

“Do what you can, Ficke. When she’s bandaged up, we’re taking her back.” Cullen stood and picked up his armored headdress. He didn’t bother to slip it back on with the previous threat now on their way, so he let the lion hide hang loosely off of his shoulders.

“Back to the lowlands, Thane?”

Cullen made to leave but stopped. He looked back over his shoulder at the inquiring scout, shaking his head.

“Back to the Hold."

 

…………………………………

 

The first thing Cara was aware of was an acute throbbing at the back of her skull. The pain grew with each movement she made which, along with her eyes refusing to open, confused her. She felt dazed and achy and cold, and she wanted more than anything to have the strength to move, but every part of her body seemed determined to remain uselessly limp. Her mind felt clouded, like a heavy fog was shrouding her thoughts, and she had to spend a good while fighting it off before she finally began to come back to her senses.

As her awareness slowly returned to working order, she detected voices. They were soft at first, then continued to increased in volume with each aching, passing minute. At least she could hear again, but the world around her remained an insufferable black void. She strained her eyes open the tiniest bit before they unwillingly shut again, much to her building frustration.

She gave up, the strain from trying to come to taking her last ounce of energy from her, and let herself be helplessly taken to wherever she was headed. She was powerless in her pained and weakened state, and she reasoned that the voices around her didn’t sound _that_ hostile. If anything, the conversation seemed almost casual, even though she couldn’t understand a word of it. She would just have to rest until her strength returned. Though, Cara knew it was simply that she didn’t have the luxury of situational control to be able do anything else.

The crunching of feet in the snow combined with the warmth of something solid bumping lightly against her cheek was almost calming. She sluggishly curled into the warmth and almost let her mind succumb back to the dark depths of unconsciousness before she was startled suddenly awake. Someone was speaking from directly above her. She tried to turn her very sore head up towards the sound, but groaned when the severe pounding in her skull suddenly migrated to the backs of her eyes.

The noisy chatting around her stilled momentarily before the swaying motions finally halted along with it. The lack of movement alleviated the pain immensely, and she felt herself instantly go lax. Though, she had to brace herself for the hurting again when she was abruptly shifted upward.

After one, final attempt, her eyes finally opened. She flinched against the sudden brightness and collided her head against something sturdy in the process. Delicately lifting her head, she squinted up, but then faintly gasped at what she saw through the clearing bleariness.

Honey brown eyes locked with hers, guarded and unwavering. Taken by surprise from their intensity, Cara tried to jump away, only to realize too late that until that moment, she was being carried. Above the ground. The arms that had been recently supporting her dead weight went out from under her. She tried reaching out instinctively to break her fall, but the effort was fruitless; her hands were bound together.

Strong arms shot out, catching her before she fell too far, and hoisted her back up into a more secure hold. She nearly squeaked when she was maneuvered into a bridal-style position, her eyes wide as they once again met the wild man’s own. Anxious anticipation began to build up within her when he didn’t take another step. The man merely stared down at her, the briefest look of regard flashing across his features, before he continued to tread carefully through the snow.

Her tied-up hands automatically went to his chest to steady herself as they marched, but she withdrew them the second they made contact with the heat of his uncovered skin. She reddened, suddenly aware that she’d been snuggling her head against his very exposed chest when she had been regaining her consciousness. Cara hesitantly glanced back up at him once more and felt her stomach knot with dread.

It was a given that the man was an Avvar, judging by his manner of dress and the swirling blue tattoos that complemented his tanned skin. He looked down at her again, watching her with cautious, golden eyes, and she studied him just as intently. But his relentless and hardened gaze made her edgy, and she forced herself to cut her examination of him short by shifting her curious eyes elsewhere.

That was when she realized that she was surrounded. More Avvar, men and women alike, were walking beside them while one of them led her horse. Despite the unpleasant situation she was in, she was relieved to find Kaulder unharmed.

She could feel all of them looking at her, sneaking glances from the corners of their wary eyes. She steeled herself against their stares, not the least bit liking the way they were discreetly monitoring her as they moved, as if they were waiting for her to have a break down at any given moment.

“Who are you?” She tried to ask the one supporting her in his arms. The words came out rough and cracked, leaving her feeling like she hadn’t spoken in days. She coughed against the bitter parchedness of her throat only to be cut off by an unexpected, searing pain. Cara hissed, her hands moving to the front of her neck to investigate the source.

The Avvar man carrying her stopped her by the wrist before she could locate where the scorching sensation was coming from. She narrowed her eyes at him, not at all appreciating the feeling of his calloused hand grabbing her. He glared right back, eyes glowing almost amber in the sunlight.

“You’re hurt,” he said somewhat brokenly. His thick accent rolled richly off of his tongue, making Cara’s insides grow a little warm. “Don’t make it worse.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but he let go of her wrist and silenced her with a motion of his hand.

“I said don’t make it worse. So, don’t talk,” he ordered a little more firmly, ignoring the slack-jawed look the lowlander was giving him. He stared straight ahead then, looking away and speaking something in Avvar to the people around him. She felt him dig his feet into the snow before he pushed forward. Kaulder responded to his quickened paced and contently followed close by.

‘ _Don’t talk?’_ She thought incredulously, entirely perplexed by his audacity as they walked. _She_ was the one tied up and being held captive by these wild, barbaric, mountain men! Did he think she was seriously going to just save it and obey him without question? For instance, where was he taking her? Why was she tied up? And why did the shirtless one have to be the one to carry her?

She clenched her jaw in irritation. Her arms and legs were still not responding as well as she would have liked, and her head still hurt more than it ever had in her life, but she _could_ move again. She would have to make her escape before they took her too far from anywhere she could still navigate with her maps. Despite the expeditions that many an Orlesian man had made through the centuries, much was still unknown about the Frostbacks. Cara wasn’t about to let herself be stuck wandering the frozen wasteland for the remainder of her days. If the Avvar didn’t gut her first, that was.

With a huff, she scooted away from her captor, as far as one could when being carried in a pair of relentlessly strong arms. She sensed his gaze flick back down to her momentarily before they returned to the path ahead of them. That was fine. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes again.

Cara would play the part of being the obedient captive. For now.

 

 

 

By the time the sun had passed its high point in the sky, Cara literally had to bite her tongue to keep herself from losing it. They’d been walking for hours in silence, and every time the damn man had to switch off with another Avvar for ‘lowlander carrying duty,’ she wanted to scream. Her head was no longer killing her like it had been, but she was not at all comfortable.

She’d tried to reason that they could just set her atop Kaulder instead, but all she’d gotten in response was a disbelieving quirk of the blonde one’s brow and a look that more than told her he didn’t trust her. She’d wanted to stick her tongue out at him like a brat, the way she’d always done as a child behind her mother’s back whenever she was told no, but she squelched the urge. She didn’t want to know what death sentence could be warranted if she rattled an offended Avvar warrior.

During the long hours of their trek, Cara had watched the group of people interact. What else was she to do when she was bound and restrained?

The way the painted warriors would sometimes bow their heads and salute to her captor after a conversation gave her the impression that he held some sort of authority among them. Just what kind of authority, she had no clue. He would sometimes stop to consult with the others, pointing in different directions towards the horizon. Other times he would take the lead of the group, walking ahead through the knee-deep snow, and every time he did, Cara would do her best to burn a hole into the back of his head with a look that she wished could kill. At one point, he’d glanced back over his exposed shoulder to look at her while she was scowling at him. She’d flushed slightly at being caught in the act, but didn’t lower her glare. He’d narrowed his eyes right back at her before turning away, but for a second Cara could have sworn she saw the man’s mouth twitch.

She flopped her tired head back against her keeper's arm guard and groaned inwardly, praying to the Maker that it would soon be over.

 

 

 

A soft noise startled her awake. Upon cracking her eyes open, Cara noticed that she was no longer in the vice-like grip of any of the fur-covered, Avvar men. Instead, she was lying down in a dim room, on top of something soft. And something else, something heavy, was on top of her.

She sat up slowly, acutely aware of the stiffness that seemed to ache in her every muscle. As she squinted into the faint lighting of her unknown surroundings, she looked down at her hands, which, much to her great annoyance, were still tied together with a rope. She ran them curiously over the dense blanket covering her. Fur; a bear’s pelt, from the looks of it. It was thick and coarse, but it was warm. She pulled it closer to her when a slight, frigid breeze suddenly blew in through the curtain flap from the front of the structure.

She could see it all much easier now that the sleepiness was completely gone from her eyes. She was in a tent. She guessed that it was nighttime now, from the way the soft light danced across the canvas walls from a fire outside. Occasionally, the shadows of people were cast across the linen canopy as they walked past.

All of a sudden, Cara heard, or rather felt, that she was not alone. She swept her gaze to one corner of the tent and stilled when she spotted the outline of a dark figure. It was slouched over, sitting there quietly in the shadows. She debated on calling out to her Avvar detainers, but quickly scratched the idea when her intruder spoke in a familiar, hushed tone.

“If you alert them, I won’t be able to help you,” the wisp-like voice said.

“... _Cole_?” She breathed in disbelief. She was up on her feet and stumbling towards the scrawny boy before she even had time to disentangle herself from the furs. She fell to him on her knees, holding him as firmly against her as she could with her bound arms, and squeezed him tightly. She was sure he couldn’t breathe very well, but he didn’t seem to mind. He quietly returned her embrace, letting her calm her trembling in her own time. Eventually she pulled back from him and met his ghastly eyes. They were much lighter when they weren’t covered in the shadows of his tattered hat, which she noticed was no longer with him. She wondered what happened to it before a hundred other questions pushed that thought aside. Cole seemed to sense her distress and quickly put a gentle hand across her mouth, silencing her before she had the chance to speak a single word.

“They don’t see me, but they can see you. I want to help, but the eyes of the mountain are tracking you,” he explained. It was one of the furthest things from being easy to understand she’d probably heard from the young man yet. But she knew Cole well enough by now to hold her tongue and let him finish.

“I can’t stay," he said more plainly. "They will bring you to their hold; they will watch you. They have tests, but they won’t hurt you. They won’t touch you as long as he says they can’t. You need to trust him.” He leaned towards her, his tone earnest and quiet. “His heart is good. Trust him.”

“Trust who? Cole, why can’t you stay?” She gently removed his hand from her mouth, unable to contain her questions any longer. She was whispering urgently, just loud enough for him to hear her.

Cole opened his mouth as if to say more but closed it, suddenly turning his head toward the entrance of her tent. “The lion approaches,” he said simply.

“What lion-? Cole, I don’t understand,” she held his hands tightly in hers, afraid he would suddenly disappear and leave her alone again. He looked at her and gave her his usual twist of upturned lips. It was as close to a smile as she'd ever gotten from him.

“I have to go now. I’ll see you again. They won’t hurt you, Cara. Go with them.” With that, she blinked once to find herself sitting in the corner of her tent. Alone. Any trace that Cole had been there was gone, along with him. She didn’t even get a moment to herself to decipher some of the enigma that was Cole’s message when a shadow appeared at the front of the canvas. She froze, realizing how strange it would look if she were found huddling in a dark corner instead of staying wrapped up in the warm furs they’d provided for her.

She silently crawled her way over to the bedding, the action made awkward with her hands tied, and noticed for the first time that she was without her armor and clothes. Where were her things? Her knees scuffed along the light cotton dress she wore as she moved, and her eyes briefly searched the dim room for her belongings. Her attention was drawn away, however, when the flap at the front of the tent parted and a tall figure slowly entered. It was the man with the fur mantle, the one who, earlier, had walked about the freezing snow with her against his exposed chest. Thankfully, he now wore a cloak that completely covered him, but his eyes were nearly as distracting as his physique. They fell on her now, the fire light occasionally bouncing off of the walls around them and igniting their golden depths. She stood slowly, hands folded in front of her hips, and watched him warily.

His brow furrowed as he slightly narrowed his eyes at her, but the look wasn’t spiteful. If anything, he looked almost concerned. She shrunk slightly more into herself, very aware that she was in nothing but her smalls and the thin dress. She felt exposed, almost vulnerable in the small space she currently shared with the Avvar man. She was so tired.

“Can I help you?” She grumbled, looking away from him. He remained standing at the opening for a moment before clearing his throat quietly. He shifted inside a little more until the flap fell closed behind him, cutting off the icy draft blowing in, but he seemed set on maintaining as much physical distance from her as the tent would allow. For some reason, that bothered her a little.

“You’re up,” he said, his strange accent making the words somehow more rich, more melodic. She shifted on her bare feet.

“Yes, I am. Good to know that your eyes are working properly,” she muttered under her breath, gritting her teeth against a shiver. She subconsciously tried to rub her hands up and down her arms, but to no avail. The man quirked an eyebrow at her, seemingly ignoring the jibe she hadn't quite kept to herself.

“We… did not expect you to wake for some time yet,” he admitted, looking back over his shoulder and away from her. Cara suddenly noticed how tense he was. She would bet her entire inheritance in that moment that the Avvar wanted nothing more than to leave her presence. But to his credit, he didn’t.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

His face was still turned away, towards the entrance, but for a second she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like it had earlier. In the next moment, his expression was as solemn as it had been all of the day before. She wouldn’t put it past her if she were starting to see things that weren’t really there. She’d heard stories of peoples’ minds imagining things after the lack of sleep would drive them into a state beyond exhaustion.

“Your voice sounds better,” he finally turned back towards her, his honey-brown eyes meeting hers. Her breath hitched against her will under their piercing scrutiny.

She suddenly recalled their conversation from earlier, and her hand automatically went to the smarting spot on her neck. A bandage was wrapped all the way around it, the material of it unfamiliar and scratchy, but not constricting. Her fingers were feather-light as they ran along the column of her throat, and even that triggered a slight pain at whatever wound was being covered there. Her eyes turned back to his, unsure and questioning.

Another Avvar barbarian entered, then. A woman, covered in leathers and furs and with hair cropped as short as a Fereldan man’s, paused in the entry way with a bowl and some cloth in her hands. She looked to the man, waiting, it seemed, for his instruction. Cara cocked a curious eyebrow at the both of them, not entirely understanding what was happening.

He said something to the woman in their strange language, much to Cara’s vexation, and she took a large step back on the furs when the woman began to approach her. The light-haired warrior seemed to notice her apprehension and said something that made the woman stop. Cara remained posed on the defensive, feeling cornered by these mountain people in the small space that the shelter provided.

“Lowlander,” he addressed her. She frowned at him for his use of the nickname, which he patiently ignored before he continued. “This is Marlene. She wishes to check your wounds and clean them. She will leave you as soon as she is done. You have my word that she will not harm you. Will you allow her this?”

Cara was oddly reminded of the time the Trevelyan estate’s healer had gently talked to her as a child right before he had fixed her arm. She’d been scared and crying then. Is that what this man thought of her? Did she seem like a frightened, little child to these people? She stuck out her chin and stood a little taller, calling on her years of experience as a bard and assassin to show them just how frightened she really was. Wary? Yes. Perhaps even intimidated by the indigenous people, but not afraid. These were not the men with the wolf skins from the forest, she reminded herself. As far as she could tell, they weren’t trying to kill her. Cole’s words came back to her mind, then.

_Trust him. They won’t hurt you._

“I will,” she said to him finally, and Cara knew she wasn’t just answering the restless man in her tent. The taller Avvar nodded once before he motioned toward the woman named Marlene, and then he departed from them.

Her weary gaze lingered on the spot where he had just stood before she turned to her supposed caretaker. It was just the two of them now, standing and facing each other, both parties unsure of the other. She took a moment to study the unusual girl in the night-darkened room, wondering if the designs on her face were painted on or if they were dyed into the skin, like the swirling blue tattoos of her pretty-eyed keeper. Her hair was short, almost all the way down to the skin on the sides of her head, but was left longer on the top. It made her look untamed and fierce, and on top of everything else the woman wore, she made an exotic picture.

“Sit?” Marlene lightly broke the awkward silence after they had both examined each other for some time. Cara tilted her head slightly at the sing-song way the word sounded on the Avvar’s tongue, but instantly regretted it as pain shot up her neck from the motion. Marlene was at her side instantly, offering her a hand to help her settle on the floor. She took it, not even minding in the haze of fatigue how powerful the woman’s grip was when she helped lower her to her furs.

She was gently guided onto her back, and Cara was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of lethargy. She fought to keep her eyes open while Marlene worked, not wanting to drift off and make the process more difficult for the attentive girl’s service. A couple of times, her lids stayed shut for too long and she accidentally jerked awake. She thought she saw the Avvar woman smiling a little before she would continue cleaning her wound. Cara wanted to ask her so many questions, like how had she received the injury on her neck, but the sleep was fighting a hard battle. And it was winning.

“Rest, lady lowlander,” Marlene said softly. “You’ll need your strength for the approaching day.”

Marlene’s musical voice reminded Cara of an elven string-harp. It was soothing, and soon she let the sound of the woman’s humming lull her into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

This routine continued for the next few days. She was handed off from person to person during the day's frigid march, carried through the snow or watched closely if she had enough energy to walk herself. The cold was unbearable and draining, and the clothes she had brought with her only kept her so warm. The only highlight was that she would sometimes get to be close enough to Kaulder to pet him, but not more than that. It seemed to help soothe the both of them in the middle of this unexpected journey to have each other, and sometimes she felt a certain pair of golden eyes following her interactions with her beloved horse.

Whenever night fell, she would retire to her tent and attempt to warm herself in the furs. She was usually accompanied to her quarters these days by Marlene. The woman wouldn’t say much in Fereldan, but she understood Cara well enough, and was even starting to communicate more openly with her as time passed. It had been an unexpected effort on the woman’s part, but Cara was grateful for it. She, at least, had begun to feel like she had someone she could finally talk to.

She hadn’t gotten the chance to ask Marlene about anything yet. By the normal time their usual guide, her captor, would signal them to make camp for the night, she was always too cold and too tired to do anything but crawl into her blankets and let the short-haired woman do her work. She often let Marlene’s humming act as her lullaby as she drifted off, her violent shivering eventually subsiding later into the night. It had become a sort of standard between the two of them; Cara falling asleep as Marlene changed her bandages or massaged her blistered feet. The woman was truly more selfless than anyone she had met, and Cara was beginning to harbor a soft spot for her Avvar caretaker.

On one of the nights they'd stopped, it had become especially cold. Cara had tried to enjoy the warmth of the fire with one or two others before the men returned from a late-night hunt. Not wanting to be any more of an inconvenience by being in the way of the fire, she had bee-lined for her tent the second she caught a glimpse of a reddish-brown fur mantle emerging from the trees, leaving the warmth for the warriors to enjoy in peace.

She had crawled under her bear pelt, thick socks and cotton dress on in exchange for her clothes and armor once more, and had unsuccessfully tried to warm herself. She had curled into as tight of a ball as she could, teeth chattering so loudly that she was sure that every soul on the far side of the camp could hear her. She hadn’t been able to stop shaking, and she'd felt colder inside of her bed than she had been when she'd been out in the snow.

Marlene had slipped in without her notice until Cara heard a rustling of clothes behind her. She had glanced over her shoulder, watching through strained, hooded eyes as the woman stripped down into what looked like smalls made of animal hide. She’d been about to ask what she thought she was doing when an entirely new wave of violent tremors overtook her.

Marlene hadn’t said a word. She’d simply lifted the furs and crawled in beside her, pulling Cara close to her own body and holding her. The warmth radiating from her had been too wonderful for Cara to be self-conscious of the fact that she was cuddling with an almost-naked woman, and she had fallen asleep instantaneously. That was also the night she had chosen to give her complete trust to an Avvar for the first time in her life.

Tonight, she hadn’t needed the extra warmth her new friend had willingly given her before, as she lay comfortably in her blankets. Marlene had recently taken a nightly residence in her tent, sharing it with her only after asking Cara for permission to do so.

Cara still didn’t know a lot about the Avvar people. She knew she was an outsider in their lands, but some of the warriors had begun to open up to her after a few weeks of traveling together, if Marlene willingly becoming her tent-mate was any indication.

In that time, the ropes had been officially removed from her wrists, and the skin that had once been raw and red from the bindings was now as toughened as her hands. She’d begun to pick up on a handful of common words as well, and was slowly learning the basics of rank in their group. She didn’t understand a lot of their culture, or what little she’d been told of it, and she imagined that she probably never would, but Marlene had explained that the leader of their people, the Thane, held the same rank of consequence as a king would in her own lowlands. Cara still had yet to officially meet the man every Avvar here seemed to hold in the highest regard, and the thought that she would eventually face him was more than a little unsettling. Would he pass judgment on her, as the king of Fereldan would on an Avvar captive? Or worse, as the Empress of Orlais would on such an outsider? To be honest, she tried not to think about it. She’d just have to cross that bridge when she got there.

She remained lost in such thoughts until a familiar, lithe figure slipped into her tent. Marlene appeared with what seemed to be some sort of meaty leg in her hands. The smell of it's cooked essence wafted over Cara, and her stomach growled loudly, echoing her thoughts. She was famished.

"Have you eaten, lady?" The woman made her way to her, pulling up the small wooden stool she'd brought to her tent a few nights ago. She shook her head.

"I'd nearly forgotten."

"Then here, have this," she offered to Cara. She eyed it greedily, taking the food from her and bringing it to her parted lips. She paused before she sunk her teeth into the juicy flesh, turning her gaze back to the comely girl.

"Mar, have you eaten already?"

"Aye, lady lowlander," she grinned at the dark-haired rogue. "You need not worry about me. Now eat."

She stood from her seat and began her usual routine of readying for bed, leaving Cara to eat in quiet. Cara thanked her before she dug in, not caring if her eating manners were extremely poor as she tore into the well-cooked leg. It was just her and Marlene here, and besides, she highly doubted the Avvar people cared for proper Orlesian or Fereldan dinner etiquette.

Eventually, her stomach full and her platter empty, Cara slipped into the fur-pelted sleep roll that was her bed, idly watching Mar's breaths even out from where she lay in her own.

She spent most of the journey with Marlene if she could. They’d often walk together, talking and exchanging stories from their lives. Sometimes, she even let her pet Kaulder, who eventually took a liking to her after Cara had shown him the gentleness of her caretaker.

Whenever Marlene was away with the scouts or otherwise occupied, she would visit with the large, bearded man who cared for her horse. She’d learned that his name was Garel, and the older warrior held obvious affection for all things nature, horses especially. She’d taken a liking to him right away. Cara still wasn’t allowed to ride her horse, in case she tried to escape, she suspected, but Garel had slowly begun to trust her, and would occasionally let her help him lead Kaulder through the snow behind them.

When her feet would become tired, a warm, velvet nose would push her from behind, giving her a boost. How she’d missed her knightly steed in the weeks she’d been tucked away in her tent.

It seemed to her that, in the short time she had spent journeying with the Avvar, she’d become less of a captive to them. She wasn’t quite sure where she stood with the men and women who had taken her in and kept her alive in the weeks they’d marched through the snow-covered Frostbacks, but she’d become more at home among them than she had ever been in her own house. It was an unexpected setback, for Cara knew they were getting closer to their people’s hold; their chief village of-sorts. With each passing day, the Avvar grew more lively and merry, knowing they were getting closer to home.

“I think Red-lion hold will be kind to you, lady lowlander,” her friend’s familiar, song-like voice had cut into her thoughts the day before. Cara had managed to turn and give her a small smile before facing the melting snow below them once more. They had been marching up a steeper hill, and the snow melt had begun to make the ground wet and slick in most places. She'd kept a worried eye on Kaulder the entire way up, her mind wandering off to what would happen to her in two weeks’ time. Garel had said that was about when they should reach their destination. After having marched for a little over a month on-foot, she could see that they were all eager to be home. Cara was sure she had been the only one who didn’t share the feeling.

Only once or twice did she run into the man with the golden eyes since he'd left her in Marlene’s care. The times she had, he’d kept the exchange short and polite and had quickly been called off, apparently being needed elsewhere. The man always seemed to be needed elsewhere, she'd noticed over the weeks. If he wasn’t helping set up camp, he was out with the hunters, gathering food. If not that, he was sometimes out with the scouts, even though Marlene had mentioned he himself wasn’t a scout. She could see, as anyone with eyes could, that he was of the higher-ranked warriors she’d learned about. She just had no idea who he was or what exactly his role was in their tribe.

Cara sighed into the darkness of her tent. Before Cole had appeared to her weeks ago, she'd made up her mind to escape as soon as she was able to. And yet, here she was, feeling more content with where she'd ended up than she had in some time. She knew perfectly well that there was a good chance she could sneak Kaulder away from Garel and take off before any of them would realize what had happened. But she found herself reluctant to break whatever trust she had slowly built between herself and these mountain people over the last month. Why? Why was she hesitant to leave? As lenient as the men and women in the camp had become with her, she was still technically their captive. They were going to bring her to their hold, where she would most likely be caged like an animal, kept as a novelty to the mysterious Thane, or killed. She saw no other futures before her that were quite as plausible as those, although there was the small possibility that none of those things would happen. As much as she wanted to hope for a such an alternative, she didn't, just in case the hope was founded on false wishes alone.

Marlene was fast asleep. Cara turned her head in the direction of her soft, steady breathing, absently touching the fine scar on her neck from where her wound had healed. That woman had tended to her care and comfort almost as much as Nan had when Cara had been younger. It would hurt to leave the friend she hadn't expected, but was happy, to find here. It would hurt to leave Garel and his gentle ways with the pack horses. And, a very small, somewhat reluctant part of her admitted to the still, night-filled air around her, that she would be disappointed to leave _him_.

The man whose eyes seemed to make her uneasy every time she met them with her own. He was the one who had taken it upon himself to carry her broken body during the first few days of her march with the Avvar people. He was the one that wore the curious, swirling marks covering his arm and a part of his torso. He was one of the few whose names she had not yet learned during her time among the mountain-hardy warriors. In fact, she knew very little about him except that she always saw him with a serious expression on his face, and that he had a tendency to be called away often enough for her to not have had the chance to speak to him. Marlene had informed her that he, and her gentle giant, Garel, had been the ones to save her from the painted wolf men. She'd tried asking the horsemaster about what had happened, but the large man had a heart softer than a child's and had been reluctant to discuss the events of that night.

She decided that fate simply wanted to torment her by leaving her last resort of getting answers about what had happened to her, and how she came to be in their care, to the one person in the entire camp she felt abnormally tense around. She couldn't explain it. She'd never met someone, friend _or_ enemy, who left her feeling so unsettled. She couldn't decide if it was a good or bad sign, and so she had carefully maintained her distance from him during the rare moments he'd been nearby.

Unable to soothe her conflicted mind and fall asleep, Cara was up and quietly slipping into her trousers and boots, careful not to disturb her sleeping companion. Wrapping the strip of bandage cloth around her neck, she silently slipped out into the night.

The fires had died down to embers and were glowing dully under the heat-blackened logs as she passed by them. Her feet crunched silently in the stubborn patches of snow that were doing their best to stay behind and fight the rising temperatures of early spring. She didn't have a particular destination in mind, that tended to happen when one didn't know where exactly they were at, but she stuck close by to the outer edges of the camp, not wanting to stray too far and raise suspicion. She passed by Kaulder, who was resting his head comfortably across the much shorter back of one of the pack horses, fast asleep. She smiled at the sweet picture he made, then continued to let her feet take her where they pleased.

They had wanted a good view of the night sky, apparently, as she found herself up a short distance away from the camp and out of the cluster of small trees. From there, she could look over the entire valley below, seeing as far as the moon's pale light would allow. There were not as many stars out tonight as there had been in the past week, but the few she could spot between the drifting clouds brought her a quiet sense of tranquility. Perhaps up here, combined with the cool, crisp air, she could find peace of mind and get herself to sleep at last.

She'd had the thought too soon, however, when she heard the muddled thud of heavy boots cut into the stillness of the night. To her dismay, no sooner had the very man who'd occupied her restless thoughts moments before finally begin to fade away, when he suddenly appeared. Not two yards away. His head was lowered to the ground, seemingly watching his feet as he went. He had a determined look about him, and her apprehension grew the closer he became. But he hadn't seen her, apparently not until he was almost upon her. His head jerked up abruptly, and his startled eyes met her nervous ones. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Khor's teeth! I didn't notice you there," he said briskly, attempting to regain his sudden lack of breath. Cara didn't know what to say, her tongue felt dry and heavy in her mouth, as it usually did when she faced this man. She didn't take her eyes off of him, watching him as he righted himself and slowed his breathing. She hadn't meant to startle him.

"I didn't think anyone else was out here," she explained apologetically. Why did she feel like she had to apologize to the man? She hadn't done anything wrong.

"Ah, well, everyone is normally in their beds at this time of night," he said, closing the distance between them until he was only a couple of feet away. He looked up into the sky, and Cara found herself following his gaze. They stood there for a minute, gazing at the stars together, before he added, "so why aren't you, lass?"

Cara folded her hands in front of her a few times. It was something he noticed she tended to do when she seemed to feel anxious or unsure. Cullen wasn't sure which one it was in this case.

"I... couldn't sleep," she said. She lowered her eyes from the sky to the ground. He waited in silence for her to continue, but she seemed unwilling to elaborate.

"It is the same for me," he told her, his face remaining towards the stars but his eyes watching her from their corners.

 She looked at him at that, accepting his answer with a silent nod before resting her gaze heavenward once more. Cullen allowed himself to study her then. She was shivering, and he could understand why. She'd chosen to dress light before leaving her tent. He wondered if she hadn't planned to stay out for very long. He would have offered her his coat if he'd worn it. He'd have to remember to bring it with him next time.

He stopped mid-thought. Who was deciding that there would already be a next time? He unknowingly furrowed his brow.

"I haven't had the chance to ask you what happened that night," she said softly, folding her arms across her chest and rubbing some warmth back into her skin. "I've been meaning to."

He cocked an expectant eyebrow at her, already having an idea of which night she was referring to. He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "You want to know about what happened on the night those men found you." It wasn't a question.

"I do, but," she turned to him, giving him a small, tentative smile. "I get the feeling now isn't the time for such talk. There will be time for that later, hopefully, but with you being gone so often..."

Cullen smiled to himself at that. The lowlander had taken a notice to his often missing presence? The realization was somewhat gratifying.

"There will be time," he reassured her softly. Her smile grew slightly, and he was tempted to give her one of his own in return. He didn't.

"I would like that, um," she suddenly hesitated. Cullen waited, ever patient, until his curiosity piqued at her expression. Her cheeks grew rosy, and she seemed almost embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she laughed softly, the sound soothing to his ears like the quiet patter of rainfall. "I'm afraid I don't know what to call you. I haven't yet learned of your name."

 _'If only it were that simple,'_ Cullen thought to himself listlessly. "I am known by a few different names among my people, lowlander. You'll find that most Avvar have more than one."

"O-oh," she said quietly. He watched her again for a moment, and it was obvious that his answer hadn't satisfied her, but she was hesitant to say anything more. He didn't word it out loud, but he appreciated her efforts to accept his answer and respect his privacy. Of course, he wasn't going to leave her with something so cryptic. He'd simply wanted to know how she'd react. Yet, he still hesitated. He knew the lass did not realize the significance of addressing a Thane by his personal name outside of blood-related family. She couldn’t have, seeing as she wasn’t an Avvar and hadn’t yet been disclosed his title. He intended to keep it that way, at least for a little longer, but it seemed for now he would have to make at least part of a rare exception.

"You may call me Cullen, if it pleases you," he said, turning to her and resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. He gave her a small quirk of his lips.

"Cullen?" She looked at him again with those peculiar eyes. Under the light of the moon, they almost appeared to dance with the stars, and Cullen found himself unable to look away from them. She repeated his name once more, twice more, seeming to test the way it tasted on her tongue. The Thane found himself quite liking the way her voice lilted when she said it. It was different with her lowlander accent; warmer, less harsh.

"Thank you, Cullen." She took a step toward him. His eyes followed her. "I think I should like to retire to my tent now. Sleep well."

The Thane watched her go, her long, dark tresses flowing loosely in the soft night wind. Her hips swayed slightly with each careful step down the short slope, and she actually looked backed at him once before disappearing into the thicket of trees.

Cullen remained on the stony mountain ledge for some time, his mind occasionally wandering away from his usual worries to gray eyes and a shy smile. He watched the Lady's dark sky shimmer and twinkle with her soft night lights, thinking. He sighed tiredly. The heavens felt further away right then more than they ever had.

 

 

 

Cara watched as the last rays of the sun faded in the approaching dusk. The scouts were coming back from their patrol, just in time to eat with the rest of them, and there were multiple fires lit tonight. The mountain air wasn’t warm by any means, but it was slowly improving, much to Cara’s delight. As much beauty as could be found everywhere in the Frostbacks, she did not at all appreciate the freezing cold.

She sighed from her perch on a boulder, twisting her hands around in front of her, wishing she had a dagger. Having one of her preferred weapons in hand always helped her to more easily sort through her thoughts, and tonight her mind felt like it was in ten places at once.

Tryston… how she missed her dear brother. She thought of him often the longer she was away. She thought of Evelyn too, though she hadn’t been quite as close to her older sister as she had been to her brother. She missed her Nan, the brave woman who had practically raised the little terrors her and her brother had been as children. She could oddly admit that she even missed her father a little bit, but that was where the homesick feelings ended.

Cara wouldn’t be surprised if her mother was entirely too happy to finally be rid of her daughter's 'troublesome’ or ‘unlady-like’ ways, as she had often referred to Cara’s everyday behavior as.

Footsteps came from behind her, growing louder the closer they got. She didn’t need to look to know it was Marlene. She’d recognize that woman’s soft humming anywhere. Even now, it soothed her nerves a bit.

“Lady lowlander,” her companion addressed her in the usual way.

“Hello, Mar.”

“Will you not join us by the fire?”

“I ate earlier, thank you,” she said politely, not wanting to offend. Marlene seemed to accept her answer, but made no move to leave. She stood by her, a head shorter than Cara’s shoulders from where she sat up on her stony perch, watching the darkening horizon with her lowlander friend.

Almost an entire week had passed since Cara had accidentally run into Cullen during her compulsive night walk. She had spotted him on more occasions since then, when he was preparing to depart with the hunters or return with the scouts. There were moments where she had caught his eyes, and she had adversely flushed in response. Damn him for making her so edgy. It was like she couldn't get a grip on herself, and she couldn't pinpoint what was causing her unease. The man had entrusted his name to her, even after he seemed reluctant to do so. So he was willing to confide in her to some degree, then. It only seemed fair for her to do the same for him with her questions. Andraste preserve her, it would just be so much simpler if their wasn't this strange tension seemingly hanging between them.

Although, what if she was the only one to have noticed it? What if she were merely overthinking things and imagining them to be more uncomfortable than they really were? Her gut instincts hadn't failed her before, but there was a first for everything.

“The Lady’s colors will grow even brighter when the warm season comes,” Marlene commented absently, interrupting Cara's confusing thoughts.

“Whose?” she asked, finally turning her light eyes towards the woman beside her.

“Ah, I see I have not explained that to you yet. A conversation for another time.”

“I have time now, if you’d like to share,” she pressed, trying not to sound too desperate for a distraction. Marlene grinned up at her, the beautiful, tribal designs around her eyes creasing from the action.

“I would love to tell you, but tonight I cannot, for the Thane wishes to speak with you in your tent.”

Cara went completely still, her eyes wide. “The Thane? He’s here?”

“Aye, lady, he’s been with us since you joined us. Did you not know?”

Cara could only shake her head numbly. She had anticipated on meeting the so-called Thane of Red-lion hold in a little over a week. To be suddenly approached and told that her meeting would be cut short by that one week made the knot in her gut grow many times in size. Until now, she hadn’t even noticed the bundle of nerves in her core that had been twisting uncomfortably for some time, and she didn’t like it. It was like she was facing her first assassination assignment all over again. That had been years ago, and she'd been in her fourteenth year.

Marlene reached a hand up to her, and Cara took it, letting the Avvar woman help her down the rock. She landed lightly on her feet, her armor clinking softly. Standing before her now, she looked up into the taller woman’s eyes; hazel and warm like the spring.

“I have been asked to give you privacy. You can trust the Thane, Cara. He is a good man,” she said in a low voice, in case others were listening nearby. She placed a reassuring hand on Cara’s shoulder, and Cara placed her own gloved hand over hers in thanks. Marlene smiled at her.

“You best be off. I’ve no idea of when he will be by.”

“Thanks for passing on the message. If I don’t see you tonight, I’ll try to visit with you tomorrow.”

“Aye, that would be fine. May the path rise up to meet you, lady lowlander.”

Cara watched with slumped shoulders as Marlene eventually returned to her seat near one of the fires. It was nearly dark now, night had finally crept upon them, and she briefly entertained the idea to sneak past Garel and run away with Kaulder rather than meet with the Thane. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to get very far if she tried it. She’d recently seen the tools the hunters used to slow down larger prey, like the herd of harts that had one day wandered too closely to their camp. She was probably a fool for it, but she cared too much for her sleek, four-legged companion to risk tripping him and injuring himself in one of their traps. So, for his sake, she decided to ignore the lump of dread sitting in her stomach and just get it over with.

She paused in the trees a few yards from her tent, watching for any suspicious shadows that could be moving around inside of her quarters. After more than enough time passed, she sneaked her way across the terrain and slipped through her tent flap.

To her relief, no one was waiting for her inside. But to her distress, no one was waiting for her inside. She considered quickly changing out of her armor, but she wanted to be prepared, just in case. For what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. If the man had wanted her dead, he could have killed her weeks ago, instead of letting her warm up to his people behind his back, as they had to her. Unless the man had a twisted sort of mind, she doubted he would come just to harm her tonight. At least, she hoped that wasn’t the case.

She could call for Marlene, but even though the two of them had formed an unexpected friendship over the past month, she knew the Avvar woman would be loyal to her Thane first. That thought really didn’t reassure Cara in the least.

For the sake of courtesy, she removed the heavier pieces of her armor and her cloak, but remained in the rest of her attire; dark trousers, linen chemise, neutral corset and armored boots. She was as light as a rogue could go without arming herself or dawning her heavier, plated pieces for protection, but she still felt naked without her daggers. Her things had been confiscated when she was first held prisoner, and were being carried with the group somewhere among their cargo. She just didn’t know if she'd ever have the audacity to search the belongings of the Avvar who were keeping her safe, despite her being their lowlander captive. At this point, she figured she would eventually get them back if things went well. If they didn’t, then, well, she’d worry about that later.

A sudden knock rapped on one of the posts outside of her tent, making her jump. Oh, Maker. This was it; the meeting she had dreaded to face in what she had originally assumed would be over a weeks' time away was going to happen now. At least, soon enough, she would see Cole again. She stood from where she sat on the furs, steeling herself and arranging her expression into one that was carefully neutral. She would give none of the warring emotions going on inside of her away. Folding her hands properly before her, she took a deep, steadying breath and finally called out. “Enter.”

Heavy boots thudded across the threshold and into the small enclosure. A familiar mantle and head of golden hair appeared next, emerging past the tent flap, and it took Cara everything she had not to stare at him open-mouthed. There, standing before her, was her captor, exposed chest and blue tattoos and all. He lightly shook off some of the water that had dripped onto his hair from the tent outside, stomping his muddied shoes on the makeshift mat, before he turned fully to her. She felt her steely resolve melting under those molten eyes of his, and she had to discreetly steady herself against the flimsy canvas beside her.

"Cullen?" She asked, the incredulity clear in her voice.

 

…………………………………

 

"Cullen? _Y_ _ou’re_ the Thane?”

At first, he said nothing, and merely watched her with his solemn, unwavering gaze. For a moment, Cara worried she’d offended the man, but just then, he smirked. The blasted, infuriating, barbaric mountain man _smirked_ ; one corner of his lips tilting up higher than the other, stretching the thin, pale scar that ran down one side of his mouth. Damn him. _Damn him_ and his crooked smile. She knew she should have trusted her gut. She very nearly wanted to curse him out loud right then, but she wisely held her tongue, waiting.

Another moment of silence passed, and he finally took a few hesitant steps towards her. He looked down at her, the smirk gone from his mouth but still somewhat present in the lines of his usually grim face.

“I am.”

“All this time-?” She heard herself asking, and then she remembered his status, and that she was not exactly speaking in a way that was proper to someone that was the equivalent of a king. But, he wasn’t _her_ king, and so she remained standing uncomfortably before him, quite at a loss as to what to do next. Fortunately for her, he did.

“I thought it best to keep it from you. Just in case,” he explained quietly, taking a seat on the wooden stool near the center of the room. He crossed one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist while his other arm rested comfortably across his stomach, looking almost at-home in her small sleeping space, but the tension in his shoulders told her he was just as alert to her presence as she was to his. Interesting.

“Just in case-?” She repeated.

“If I’m not mistaken, I think there is an echo in here,” he said, the smile evident in his words and in his eyes. She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth, for it was apparent she currently lacked the ability to think straight.

“Forgive me, Cullen- _Thane_ , I just- well, I find myself at a loss of what to say. I hadn’t expected to meet you quite so soon, nor did I realize it was _you_. And now I find myself making a making a mess of my words, and I have so many things I need to ask, but I can’t even think of where to begin, and I do not know the protocols for speaking with an Avvar Thane, and I see that my rambling amuses you...”

The man’s blasted mouth had a suspicious twitch appear once or twice at the corners, but nothing permanent enough to be called a smile. He looked at her thoughtfully, sitting up a little straighter in his seat before his gaze moved to somewhere far away over her shoulder. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts before he focused on her once more.

“Ask your questions, lowlander. I will do my best to answer them, but on three conditions.”

 _Conditions for conversing with a Thane, huh? This was certainly different than the time they spoke under the stars._ She thought inwardly, and somewhat bitterly, to herself. Well, if that’s what it would take...

“Fine. Name them.”

“I will. First, I also have questions for you. Perhaps too many. But you will answer mine if you want answers for yours.”

“Fair enough,” she said, forcing her fists to relax at her sides.

“Second, I ask that you attempt to trust me as I will with you, and I will for as long as you continue to prove that you can be trusted. I’ve watched you among my people, lowlander, and Marlene is taken with your spirit.”

The compliment warmed her heart, but she didn't let it get to her head.

If he noticed her hesitant silence at his second condition, he made no comment on it. “And the third, I wish to see the progress of your wound for my own eyes. I trust Marlene has taken good care of you, but I would rest easier knowing you were healing well in the care of my people.”

Well, that was unexpected. She had actually been recovered from her injury for some time now, but the mountain air sometimes made the newly scarred tissue sting from the cold, and so she had continued to wear the bandage wrappings Marlene provided for her. Of course, Cullen couldn't have known that, for the few brief times he'd previously been in her presence, he hadn't been able to inquire after her about it before being summoned away. Yes, Marlene had taken good care of her. The skin around the long, pronounced line was still pink and raised, and was quite the contrast to her olive skin, but it was no longer an open wound at risk of infection.

The man she had imagined would be the Thane, in her mind, was a bit ruthless. Rugged, broad, dark, and perhaps even a tad unhygienic. This Thane was nothing like what she had anticipated. This was Cullen, the man who, from what she'd been told, had saved her life. She knew better than to trust blindly, but his concern for her recovery and his people seemed genuine, and his eyes were sincere when he spoke. Cara knew first-hand that even the best liars couldn’t hide the truth from showing through them. Perhaps he was a man of honor, then; a rare quality even among the purest Orlesian breeding.

 _His heart is good. Trust him._ Cole’s words suddenly echoed in her head.

“I accept those conditions, Thane, on one condition of my own,” she said more boldly than she felt. This seemed to take the Thane slightly aback, but he merely leaned against his fist once more and waited for her to say her piece.

"In this tent, I will still address you as just 'Cullen'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned at the beginning, I had a sort of falling out with the story, and had difficulty being motivated to continue. Your feedback in the comments always helps push us writers to continue giving more of the story, and I am thankful for those who have left comments. Until next time, lovelies.


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